Summer Camp
by hoshiko2kokoro
Summary: A collection of stories I will do for the LiveJournal community for USUK of the Summer Camp event. Every day is a new prompt that I will hope to fulfill. Please see the USUK community page for full details. Most will stay G rated, but some are M-rated.
1. July 1st Hero

Explosions sounded overhead and yells screamed from all directions. England was used to such vicious wartime sounds, lifting him up into the air only to be violently dropped back onto his feet, stumbling into another soldier as he scrambled for his gun. His only concern at the moment was not of the planes shooting at his men, nor of the naval battleship being torn apart all around him, but of the other country racing across the deck. America was fresh to this Second World War and had no idea how to properly conduct himself. He may have thought he did considering his involvement in the First World War. Oh how funny that England and the others had nicknamed what they saw as the Great War to be the War to End All Wars. How naive.

Just as naïve as America was being. He would stop every so often to help a fallen soldier, whether it was his own or one of England's. He would send them on their way, towards either a life boat in the process of lowering into the sea, or to a machine gun trying in vain to shoot down the barrage of fighter planes in the air. Behind him, England and a commanding American officer tried to keep up with him.

"America!" England shouted, his voice drowned by an engine roaring just over the top of their heads. He tried once more, this time catching his attention. England pointed at the officer with him. "He says we must abandon ship! We are of top priority! Let's go!"

America shook his head. "We can still help! We should stay!"

"America, sir!" the officer tried. "We must get you and England to the boats! You have to stay alive!"

"We're countries! We can't die!" America smiled a little too confidently.

England rolled his eyes, surging forward. He yanked on America's tie, snarling. "This isn't a matter of living or dying! It's a matter of being there for our boys! Now get on the bloody boats, or do I have to drag you like you were a colony once more?"

America frowned, his entire demeanor changing within seconds. He nodded to his officer and followed the two towards the nearest boats. The soldiers saluted quickly, and then helped them into the boat. Someone shouted, an explosion sounded just behind them, and England felt his grip slip from America as he felt his body become weightless. Time seemed to slow as England fell over the side of the ship. Before cold water enveloped his entire being, England caught the last sight of America's panicked face.

The sudden rush of the tumultuous ocean knocked the wind out of England. The waves overhead were another battle, but this was one England had never learned to face or win. He came to the surface with a flail of his hands and feet, calling out for help. His head continued to go above and below the surface. He could never get a full breath. His hands and feet splashed and kicked, hoping to keep him afloat. Around him, the sounds muddled together, at first loud and violent, and then muted under the water, his desperate gasps for air being overtaken by the water forcing its way into his lungs. Somehow, through all of this, he only thought of where America could possibly be; if he was safe, if that explosion had hurt him, why he had gotten himself mixed up in another one of Europe's wars?

Arms circled around England's midriff, lifting him up as if another bomb had gone off under his feet. Instead of being rocked into the air by a malicious weapon, he was pulled against a strong chest and held in place by safe arms. America called England's name, keeping his head above the water. He swam effortlessly towards the lifeboat where their men pulled them in.

England fell to the ground, coughing up as much water as he could. America's thick leather jacket fell over his shoulders, a reassuring hand firmly rubbing England's back in an effort to help him cough. England squinted up to see America, but he couldn't hear him; water had even filled his ears. England shook his head, a little sound coming back to him.

"I'm all right," England managed after a moment. America didn't seem convinced, so England repeated himself, only this time with less of a cough.

America sat up, looking to a few of his men that were nearby. "I need to know how many men are missing and where we will rendezvous with the nearest ship."

The men nodded, scurrying away to do America's orders. England had finished coughing by now, but his voice was still weak. America moved close to check on him. "You okay?"

"I'll live," he replied. He looked at America, his voice barely above a whisper. "You didn't tell anyone… did you?"

America shook his head, a miniscule smile on his face. "Naw. I'm the only one that knows you can't swim."

England flushed, but looked towards the sky. He was relieved to see the planes had finally left. Then he looked behind him. America's brand new battleship was sinking, many men still jumping into the ocean for safety. Luckily, other lifeboats were nearby and could take on the soldiers. Still, England caught sight of America's saddened expression. He had been so proud of the ship when it was first unveiled. England had been forced to see its Christening only days ago. What was once a beautiful ship was now a pathetic pile of metal being eaten by the sea, with it went America's moral.

"Th-thank you," England said, catching America off guard. He bit his lip when America's eyes turned on him. "For…saving me."

America's classic smile returned in full force, almost as if he had forgotten the attack all together. "Of course! I'd never let you drown!"

Something seemed off. England could feel as if part of him had been badly damaged. He checked himself over and was relieved to see he didn't have a single injury on him. When he hit the water, he hadn't felt his body connect with anything such as debris or the like while submerged. His only explanation could be that he just felt the loss of too many of his men around him. Somehow, when he looked at America, that didn't feel quite right.

He reached for America and retracted his hand almost instantly. A trickle of blood came down America's scalp, passing over his right eyebrow. He didn't even seem to notice it until it practically dripped into his eye. His hand pressed to his forehead, pulling back his hand to see the blood on his gloves.

"O-oh!"

"America!" England shouted as he saw him collapse. He managed to grab him before his head hit the ground. How could he have been so stupid to have not felt something like a head wound? England kept shouting America's name, only turning away to call for help when America managed to open his eyes. "Medic! Where is that imbecile? Get over here! Medic!"

America held up a hand, waving anyone away from him. "N-no, it's okay… Really."

"America, shut up," England snapped. "You have a bullet ingrained in your thick skull. You need medical attention."

The medic ran up, his case in hand already open by the time he kneeled beside America. But America pushed him away. "No. I don't want anything. N-not until my men and England's boys has been helped."

"But sir!"

"It's an order," America huffed.

The poor medic seemed torn. He couldn't refuse a direct order from his country; no matter what he felt was the right thing to do. He and all his fellow soldiers had taken an oath to serve and protect America, as had England's. With a heavy heart, the medic agreed and sulked away to attend to any others that needed him.

England wasn't in accord with America's orders, though. "How could you be so stupid?"

"I can live. You know as well as I do that we've had worse injuries," America said with a grimace. "Just…just stay with me and I'll be okay."

England sighed. For all America's stupidity, he knew he was right, mainly because England _had_ been through worse. And so they waited. Around them, men chatted, but kept their voices low. From time to time they glanced over at the countries, wondering if they could help in any way, but America was firm in his decision not to get any help until others had been attended to first. Even England hadn't offered his own men to help, knowing full well that America would send them away as well.

Eventually the medic returned. By this time, England had laid America's head down in his lap. He knelt beside America and pulled back his hair. England leaned over to see the damage. The usually bouncy blonde hair had been covered in both dried and fresh blood scattered about by the small hole on the side of his head, just above his ear. England looked away in disgust. He grabbed America's shoulders and tried not to think about the fact that the little boy who was once his colony had been shot in the head.

"Sir, this is going to hurt," the medic started, as he always did. "I'm out of penicillin."

America smiled. "It's okay. I understand."

He held up his hand towards England. Without saying a word, they held hands tightly as the bullet was extracted from his head. England kept his eyes locked on America's, sending him reassuring signals through his eyes alone. He hoped America could read them. During the process, America was strong and didn't flinch or pull away. He gripped at England's hand to the point he could have broken it, but England made no movement to pull away. He wasn't the one having a bullet pulled out of the side of his head.

Eventually, the medic removed the bullet and stitched up America's head. Around them, America's soldiers could visibly be seen to relax. A few pulled out cards to play with in celebration, others smiling and patting their friends on the back. A few of England's men were happy for them as well, as was England as he released America's hand and sat him up.

"You might have a concussion," the medic explained. "I suggest you stay awake all night, sir."

"Then I shall stay up with you as well," England said. He sat beside America. He turned to one of his men and asked for a cigarette, lighting it up.

He sat back against the side of the boat, looking up at the sky. It was coming on fast to sunset, the fight having been at least two hours ago. America sat beside him saying nothing. After a time he asked if he could have a quick drag. England handed it over.

"Thank you," America said when he handed it back. "I mean, for being there for me."

England shrugged. "Now you see why I didn't ever want you to become a stupid country and get involved in the affairs of these maniacs in Europe?"

America chuckled. "Kind of, I guess, yeah. Up 'till now it's been swell being my own country. But I guess there's always gotta be a war."

"It doesn't get any better up top, that's for sure." England sighed, taking a long drag on his fag. "Some days I wish I could just step down, but then again, I know the world needs someone to keep them in line. Keep people from becoming insane and thinking they can take over the world."

"Isn't that what you did? Does the phrase, 'the sun never sets on England's flag' ring a bell?" America nudged England who tried to hide his wry smile. "C'mon, someone's gotta help you out."

"As I recall, you helped me out in the previous war as well," England said with a bitter tone. He hated to be reminded that he had needed help in the first place.

"Yeah, but this time you can't deny you really needed help. Germany was killing you. He already had France, and Russia was no help." America frowned just from thinking about the ordeal. "I couldn't sit back and watch you get hurt…"

"So you dive in?"

"Well…yeah!" America laughed. "I mean… you'd have done the same for me."

They looked at each other, eyes searching the other for an answer they dared not speak aloud in front of their men. England wanted to come when America was hurt. He knew of what had happened at Pearl Harbor and wished to have flown to his side to help him stand back up. But the fact of the matter is he just couldn't. He could barely stand on his own. England had worried that perhaps America might see that as England not having a heart and caring as much for him as he did, but looking in his eyes now and hearing America's carefree words made that doubt vanish. America had dove in to save England while he was drowning, pull him to his arms, and help him stand back up. And England was by his side, holding his hand as he managed to make it through the pain.

"Hey England?" America whispered. He searched for England's hand, giving it a tight and quick squeeze. "You're my hero."

A swift smile escaped England and he couldn't look away fast enough. Had someone seen that moment and misconstrued it, they would have thought that the two were a fresh new couple. As it was, they were just friends. Possibly on the verge for more. Given the way the war was shaping up to be, there was no doubt in either of their minds that they would have to be working closely together from now until the end. That was plenty of time for them to catch up on events past, neither really involved with the other before WWI. Plenty of time to develop anything new or rekindle something old.

And because of that fleeting, hopeful thought, England reached back for America's hand, giving him his own squeeze. He looked back to him, trying, but failing, to hide his own smile. "And you are mine."

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: Welp, here's day 1 of the USUK July event. I want to do every single day of this event. I know I have all of the first week and I hope everyone enjoys the ride.

The first prompt reads as such: July 1st: Hero. Since both of our boys have it in them to be heroes, this is a theme dedicated to that. The idea of a hero is fairly broad, and as such we're leaving it broad for you. Superheroes, military heroes, fairytale heroes, just-saving-the-day-heroes, personal heroes, everyday heroes, the list goes on.

Thanks for reading!


	2. July 2nd First Aid

**Today's prompt:** **First Aid**- Got a bandaid? A scrape on the knee, an injury on the battlefield, stuck in a hospital bed, etc. As long as first aid is being administered somewhere in the story, whether it's actually doing it or just learning it, you can use it.

* * *

><p>"What're we doing today?" America asked. His eyes were wide with wonder as England pulled from his bag a long, wooden case. "What's that?"<p>

"This," England started, setting down the case, "is my violin."

He unlatched the sides, opened the top, and pulled out a rosewood violin. America's eyes grew larger. He got up from his spot on the floor to approach England. It had begun snowing and the young America was restless from staying inside. Luckily, England had decided to stay behind to keep his new colony entertained.

"Are you going to play?" America asked.

England felt a tinge of pink dust his cheeks. "W-well, if you want me to. But I was going to show you how to play."

"Me?" America broke into a wide grin, unlike any back in Europe that England had seen. "How do you play it?"

"I will show you how."

England hesitated a moment. To be honest he had never taught anyone how to do anything before. He wasn't sure just what to do. He could easily mess everything up and erase any interest in America of him playing an instrument. He could make it dull or become frustrated, taking out any on the poor boy.

"England?"

He came out of his thoughts to smile at America. "Here, why don't you hold this?"

America took the fragile instrument in his hand, but he had no idea what to do. He had never seen or heard of a "violin" before, much less played it. Instruments were hard to come by in the colonies. Most anyone heard were drums or maybe a flute, or a piccolo, but not something as elegant as this. He turned it around to examine every inch. The long strings intrigued him the most.

America pointed at them, ghosting his fingers across them. "What do these do?"

"That is how you make the music." England pulled out the bow. "You use this to go across the strings. Each one makes a different sound."

America giggled. "But how? It's all string!"

England leaned down to America's level. He placed the bow across the violin and lightly crossed the strings. Music sounded, much to America's shock and awe.

"Wow! How did it do that?" He looked at the violin much more intently now.

England laughed. "That is why I'm going to show you. Would you like to start learning now?"

America nodded enthusiastically. He grabbed the bow, holding it up to the strings again. England managed to stop him from moving too much. He situated America into the proper position, patting him on the head in approval when he was right.

"This is odd," America commented. He looked at his arm with a frown. "I don't like standing this way."

"It's all right. When you play you'll hardly notice how you stand." England smiled proudly at him. He didn't want to boast, but he was also happy that his teachings had gone well so far. Getting America to stand still was a feat in of itself. "You look like a professional."

"I do?"

In America's excitement he had moved the bow across the string too harshly. Forgetting his strength, the bow had pressed too hard. A few of the strings snapped. America shrieked as one whapped his cheek and others sliced open his finger tips. He dropped the violin instantly as tears sprang to his eyes.

England was quick and caught the violin before it crashed to the floor. He placed it aside, kneeling down to America.

"Sh, it's okay. It's all right," England said soothingly. His calm voice and reassuring pats on the head quieted America's loud cries. "Let me see."

America held out his hand had had been cut. England saw a few drops of blood weasel their way out of the small cuts that had neatly ripped across his sensitive tips. Looking to his face, a long cut across his cheekbone had started to bleed. England hated to see such a baby face be muddled in any way.

However, he smiled warmly to keep America calm. "It's not too bad, my boy. Come, let's clean you up."

America followed England to the wash bin in the kitchen. A small box full of medical supplies was stashed near it. England had left it there should America ever need it. England first washed the cut on America's cheek, and then the cuts on his fingers.

"I'm not a professional," America mumbled pathetically. All of his earlier gusto had vanished, deflating to a defeated pout. The tears had remained on the edge of his eyes as he stared at the floor. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"I broke your violin."

"Pish posh. That's easily fixed." England had begun pulling out the cloth from the box. He wrapped them around America's fingers, careful to keep his hold as gentle as he could. "It was you whom I was worried about."

America sniffed, looking up from under his bangs. "You…didn't look upset."

England caught his stare and returned it with kindness. "I was, but I didn't want to frighten you."

"I-I wasn't scared!" America protected. He puffed out his chest and lifted his head high, but the tears on his cheeks said otherwise.

England chuckled, patting him on the head as he finished with his fingers. "Of course you weren't. But I was."

"A big empire like you? Why?"

England set aside the cloth, pausing before he finished with America's cheek. "Because I thought you were very hurt at first. I don't like seeing you cry."

America smiled slightly. He then hugged England around his neck. "I'm okay! You don't need to be afraid, England!"

England laughed and returned the hug. Suddenly, America jerked back as he hissed in pain. He touched near the skin of the cut on his cheek. England must have touched it when they hugged. He moved to grab a towel, dipping in into the wash bin again. He dapped lightly at the wound.

"Not too bad," England mused.

"It hurts," America whined. "Can't you do something?"

England thought for a moment. He never had someone comfort him when he was hurt, be it a scrape or a serious injury. Then again, he wasn't sure his pride would have let him being comforted in the way America let him do so as often as he did. Once again, he had no idea what to do as he had never been treated so kindly before. So he thought.

What would he want when he was hurt? It had been so long since he cared to think on his feelings. Now when he was wounded he hardly let it show that it had hurt at all. Yet, there always remained that initial desire for comfort. He pined for it when young from his brothers; something- anything to show that they cared. Even just a simple hug.

England scooped America into his arms and held him to his chest. The boy was too old to be rocked as he had when he was a baby, but he wasn't against having his back rubbed in a soothing manner. England moved to give a swift kiss on his head, but stopped. Something in him said to kiss his cheek on the wound. America's eyes lit up and he smiled.

"What was that?"

"A magical kiss," England lied. "D-don't you feel better?"

America thought a moment, and then nodded. "I do! Wow! You're magical!"

"O-Of course!" England proclaimed smugly. He buffed out his chest in a very similar fashion as America had done so earlier. "Now then, let's go back into the seating area."

"But your violin…," America started.

England shook his head. "Don't fret. I can repair it. Why don't you build a fire while I work?"

America nodded, satisfied. Together they returned to the front room. America started on the fire while England set to work restringing his violin. Years of breaking his own allowed him to learn how to do so without the use of another. As such, he had become rather good at repairing any bow or string on any wind instrument. In no time at all it was fixed.

England pat his knee. "Come here, America."

America scurried over, eyes wide once more as he had when he first saw the violin. "Are you going to play now?"

"Yes, I think that's best. I shall teach you another time." England raised the violin under his chin. "Now listen."

And America did. He watched as England changed from his usual stern and tense form into a fluid and gentle man. It was so unlike him that America was enraptured by the change. England kept his eyes closed as he swayed with the music, his bow dipping down, England's body following as if being pulled by it. America didn't know the tune, but he didn't have to. England's movements were mesmerizing enough. America remained perfectly still lest he break the mood. By the end of the song, America had become enchanted by the beauty.

England smiled as he lowered the violin and bow. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes!" America shouted. He put his hands over his mouth, his face red to his ears in embarrassment. He then whispered, "I mean, yes."

England chuckled, placing the instrument on the table beside him. "When your fingers heal I shall teach you that melody. It's not very difficult and you'll master it in no time. And one day, we shall play together."

America could hardly contain his joy. He wanted to play for England right this moment. The thought of someone he adored being scared bothered him. He wanted to play for England if he was ever hurt or scared too. Or maybe, he could give a magical kiss to make all the pain go away.

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: I could not resist a young America story for this prompt. It's super cute! I hope you enjoyed day 2!


	3. July 3rd Science

**Today's prompt:** **Science**- Anything and everything related to science is good for this theme. Performing scientific experiments, seeing science first hand, scientific breakthroughs, geeking out on science, watching a science show, etc. Whether it's chemistry or dinosaurs or medical miracles, it's all welcome here.

* * *

><p>England would tell anyone that he often heard voices, but not because he was crazy. Oh no, no. It was because he could see fairies, unicorns, and other mythical beings. However, today he felt that perhaps he was going a little mad. He'd been gathering his living room in order when he saw an orange circle glowing on his wall. At first glance he thought it to be just an odd mark he never noticed before, but then he realized that it was a mirror.<p>

"I didn't buy this," England mused to himself. He peered in, wondering if he should touch it.

Suddenly, the view changed. Now it held America standing in his own living room, staring right back at England. England jumped back, yelping out in surprise.

"A-America?" England shook his head. "How foolish. As if America could be here. This mirror must show inner desires or some sort."

"Aw! I'm your inner desire, England?" America asked with a wide smile.

Again, England jumped back in surprise with another yelp. America laughed on the other side of the mirror.

"How is this…?" England held out a tentative hand, but stopped short of the circle. "What did you do to my wall?"

"Nothin'! I made a portal!" America proclaimed. "You remember that game I played for hours on end?"

"You have done that with quite of them," England answered flatly.

"No! The really cool one with guns!"

"Again, there are quite a few of those."

"Okay, okay!" America followed his finger around the perimeter of the mirror. "Well based on that game, I went ahead and made a gun just like it!"

"It makes a mirror?"

"No! I told you, it's a portal. Here, try it. Put your hand through. I promise you it's safe."

England glanced at the orange ring. He found it hard to believe that a simple colored ring could allow him to pass between space as easily as America claimed it could. And yet there was America, standing just on the other side. England could simply reach out and touch him. Oh how he wanted it to be true.

Gingerly, he moved his hand out until he thought he should feel the wall, but it never came. He kept going forward, expecting even a thin film to caress over him, but all he felt was air. Then he felt America's chest brush against his fingertips.

"I-it works!" England was amazed. "It actually works!"

America walked through the portal and closed the distance between them. What would take hours now took seconds. England was horribly excited. He could hardly contain himself, not even trying to hide his smile. They kissed quickly, hugging one another tightly.

"I dare say this is the best thing you've ever made!" England exclaimed. "You've outdone yourself this time, my love."

"So you like it?" America asked as he nuzzled just behind England's ear.

"I love it! The Scientific Department of your government must be bursting with pride."

"Oh no, they didn't make it." America pushed England away enough to look at him. His cheeks were lightly dusted with pink flush. "I told you, I did."

England's jaw dropped slightly, his eyebrows raised. "You? But why?"

"So that I could see you any ol' time I want to." America kissed England on the eyebrows once, twice, and when he went for a third, he pulled England through the portal into his living room. "And so you can see me any time you want."

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: I had no idea what to do with this prompt, so I had my friend help me out. It was amusing to have this story written out. I hope you enjoyed!


	4. July 4th Happy Birthday

**Day 4: Happy Birthday: **Today's America's birthday, so of course we're going to celebrate. Fanworks should include an American Independence Day theme. It can be during or about the Revolutionary War or it can be a fourth of July long past that/modern. Anything is good as long as it's relevant to the characters and July 4th.

* * *

><p>Arthur could count all the times Alfred had sighed that day. It had been three times in the lift, four at lunch, and twice as they stood by the water cooler during a quick break. Arthur had asked what was wrong, but Alfred only replied with, "you wouldn't understand", further confusing Arthur.<p>

Eventually, Arthur came to pass by Kiku. He moved to stop him. "Kiku? Is something wrong with Alfred? He seems rather upset."

Kiku glanced out at Alfred's cubicle, a fond smile flitting across his face. Arthur gulped, remembering what Alfred had said about him and Kiku from years past. However, now was not the time to be jealous and he dismissed the thoughts.

"What is tomorrow, Arthur?" Kiku asked suddenly.

Arthur thought a moment. "A Thursday?"

"What's the actual date?"

"July fourth-oh!"

Kiku nodded. "Alfred has never had an Independence Day outside of America. Not only that, but it's his birthday."

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise. "It is? I had completely forgotten."

"I assume that combination of that, plus the Fourth of July outside of his home country would make any one rather glum."

Arthur was nodding absentmindedly. He then thought of an idea. Smiling, he turned to Kiku. "Say, Kiku. Do you fancy a party?"

* * *

><p>Spontaneity was something Arthur used to have in him. The past year had drained him of such a trait. So it felt rather good that he organized a surprise birthday party and a Fourth of July party for Alfred all in a day. Kiku had agreed to buy any and everything, including the food and decorations. Matthew called some of Alfred's American buddies that lived in England, and even a few of his English pals. They had all responded to the RSVP. Arthur, however, was at a loss. He had no idea what an American Independence Day entailed. That left him with just organizing the birthday portion of the party.<p>

Somewhere along the way, an idea came to him. Books would tell him what a good American party could be like. He feared risking the Internet as he would most likely end up getting lost. He only used his computer for recipes he managed to find online, uploading photos to his computer, and looking at his porn. Other than that, other websites left him clueless.

Again, he decided to be spontaneous and trekked to the library. There, he ran into Elizabeth. Upon explaining the upcoming events she agreed to help as long as she could be invited.

"You and Alfred are still on good terms?" Arthur asked.

"Yes, and that's why I want to come. I do…miss him." Elizabeth looked at Arthur with a downtrodden pout. "I haven't forgiven you for taking him away from me…"

She looked away with her arms crossed, only to smirk when she saw Arthur fluster.

"We-we're n-not…!"

Elizabeth leaned over her desk, surprised. "You didn't jump him at your first chance?"

"Really Bessie. I am a gentleman these days," Arthur said, collecting himself. "Besides, he's seeing someone now."

"I've been replaced?" Elizabeth pretended to look offended.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You were quite fine a moment ago with the prospect of me replacing you."

"Yeah, but you love Alfred." She smiled at seeing Arthur flush, but not protest. "So it's all right with you."

"Can we get back to the matter at hand?" Arthur asked, clearing his throat. He looked at Elizabeth seriously.

She smiled, patting Arthur's hand. "Of course, love."

* * *

><p>Arthur had everything planned. He would march up to Alfred's desk and invite him over for a movie night or something just as casual. He'd say it was because he got a new movie of some sort, enticing Alfred to come over. They would head back to Arthur's flat where everyone would jump out and surprise Alfred on their return home.<p>

However, Alfred didn't appear to be at work. Kiku said that it was because it was his holiday, so he didn't feel up to coming in. Arthur called Alfred during his lunch break. When he answered, he sounded even more miserable than the day before.

"Would you like to come over for a movie night?" Arthur asked. "Your brother told me what today is. I managed to find a wonderful movie full of rebel colonists killing the British soldiers just for you."

Alfred let out an airy chuckle. "Sure, dude. That sounds great. I just hope I'm not a major mood killer."

"Think nothing of it. I understand how hard it must be for you." Arthur smiled as he looked down at the table, fighting off the feeling that this felt as if he were arranging a date rather than secretly invite Alfred to his own birthday party. "I-I want to make you feel better…"

There was a pause. Then, "Thanks Arthur. You're seriously the best."

"O-of course, but I'm not doing this just for you!" Arthur defended. "I've never had an American Independence Day experience with an actual American before. It sounds quite interesting."

Alfred chuckled. "All right, Artie. If you say so. I'll see you at your place after work. Should I let myself in?"

"No!" Arthur started. He flushed, mentally cursing himself for his abrupt yell. "I mean… no… I-it's just dirty, that's all."

"Pft, like I care? The first time I saw it, it was dirty. But if you don't want me to, I'll just meet you outside of it."

* * *

><p>Time, as always, toyed with Arthur. He was so nervous and excited and all around impatient that six o' clock could not come fast enough. Kiku and a few of the other co-workers that were going to the party left early so that they could be at Arthur's place before Alfred arrived. Once work was over, Arthur left, taking a rather slow route home to allow everyone as more time to set up. However, this annoyed Arthur greatly as he wanted to be home already so that he could see Alfred's surprised reaction.<p>

It was a great relief when he parked in front of his apartment complex and saw Alfred waiting by the front door to the lobby. Arthur casually walked up to him.

"Dude, what took you so long?" Alfred asked. "Was there traffic or something?"

"I'm sorry." Arthur pulled out a little box, holding it out to Alfred. "Happy birthday, Alfred."

Alfred stopped. His eyes widened and his mouth fell slightly agape. "You… You got me something?"

"I-it's nothing big," Arthur started. He handed the box over, turning to go inside. "You can open it later."

Arms grabbed Arthur from behind and pulled him back. He laughed as Alfred hugged him to his chest, picking him up from behind. He was always so overzealous in his bear hugs, but Arthur had grown accustomed to them. He pushed Alfred away and continued to move towards the lift. On the way up Alfred gushed his appreciation for the small gift.

"So, what's the movie you got?" Alfred asked. "I haven't heard of any movies on the Revolutionary War come out recently. Is it a really bad one or something?"

"They all are," Arthur joked. He pulled out his keys, heart racing in anticipation. "Mainly because we already know the ending, so there's nothing left to the imagination."

The door opened into the dark flat, Arthur moving first. His hand searched for the light switch, but somehow he fumbled around. Alfred reached out to help him keep steady. Arthur, close to Alfred's chest once more, could feel his laughter seep into his core. It made him laugh too.

"You only say that because you'll always lose!"

"Belt up!" Arthur laughed.

He finally found the light switch and flipped it on. Everyone had been standing in wait when the lights flooded the room. They jumped out, screaming together, effectively scaring Alfred. He jumped away from Arthur with a yelp. Within moments, Matthew and Kiku appeared with party drinks.

"Happy birthday, Alfred," Matthew said, handing a drink to his brother.

"And happy Independence Day," Kiku joined in.

"You… you guys did this?" Alfred looked at the two with a light smile. He wasn't sure what to do first; hug them or bust out into a loud, happy laugh.

Matthew shook his head quickly. "No. It wasn't us. Arthur put this entire thing together."

Arthur, hanging up his coat behind the trio, blushed and looked away as Matthew continued. He could feel Alfred's eyes on him. He was sure others were looking at him as well, but it was always Alfred's blue eyes that made him feel so self conscious.

"He called us up and set everything together. So you really have him to thank for all of this."

Alfred moved towards Arthur, wanting to scoop him up into his arms and hug him until he couldn't breathe. However, something else caught his eye. "E-Elizabeth?"

Said girl appeared from the crowd. She was holding a small package that had been tenderly wrapped in red, white, and blue. The only difference in it to signify that it was American was the fact there were stars littering the bow. Elizabeth walked forward and handed the box to Alfred.

"Happy birthday. You're twenty now, yes?"

"Yup! Almost at the drinking age!"

The group laughed, pulling Alfred into the crowd. Someone said, "You don't have to be twenty-one in England to drink!"

Arthur stood back and watched him go, not wanting to join in the group. Music started. Kiku handled the food, placing it out on the table. Arthur could clearly hear all of Alfred's American friends. He had never met any of his other friends before, so it was a treat to see them all. Although he had no desire to formally meet them and introduce himself. He was quite comfortable sitting off to the side. It allowed Alfred a chance to be with his friends.

It was only after a time that Arthur excused himself, slipping out onto the small balcony off from the hallway. He had given up smoking for some time now, but suddenly a craving hit him hard. His hands itched, so he placed them on the cold railing. It didn't work. He sighed and paced about the area. Something was bothering him. He didn't want to admit it, but he was feeling very selfish and clingy of Alfred.

He had arranged for the party and wanted Alfred to have fun. But Arthur wanted him to have fun with him there. Now he was all alone while Alfred enjoyed himself. Without him. It was a sad fact to know that he wasn't always needed. He had to accept that. So he scratched at his hands and let his mind wander. His eyes watched as the lights around the city began to turn on.

Noise behind him snapped Arthur from his thoughts. He turned, thinking that it was probably just something from the party. It surprised him to see Alfred coming out to join him.

"A-Al?" Arthur asked. He hadn't even realized he had called Alfred by a nickname.

He smiled at Arthur as he took up his spot beside him. They didn't speak for a moment. Alfred offered him a drink, to which Arthur took with a mumbled thanks.

"So…are you gonna tell me why you're out here, all alone, on _my_ birthday?" Alfred asked after a time.

"I…I didn't know if you wanted to see me," Arthur replied.

"What does that mean?"

Arthur bit his lip. He wanted to hide it, keep that selfish feeling locked away. "We work together every weekday. I see you more than your friends. I figured it would be best to let you do what you want with them."

Alfred turned Arthur to look at him. "Isn't this my birthday? Don't I get a say on who I want to see?"

"You wouldn't want to see me right now." Arthur looked away.

He felt Alfred's fingers pull them back up to look at him. Alfred was serious as he stared at Arthur in the eyes. But he wasn't mad. Instead, he almost looked sad. "I want to see you. I don't care how often we see each other; I always want to see you."

Arthur blushed, but frowned. "What would your new girlfriend say about this?"

"Huh? Girlfriend?" Alfred looked confused. "You mean Ali? I took her out for some coffee twice, but we're not dating."

Relief spread in Arthur's stomach. He didn't want to seem happy, but he was. Judging from the way Alfred smiled and cheered up, he could read Arthur's eyes. He released Arthur's chin. Arthur looked down to see him pull out the present from before that he had given him.

"You haven't opened it?" Arthur asked.

"Naw. I didn't want to until you were here." Alfred began to unwrap it, tossing aside the wrapping paper. "It's so tiny. What did you get me? A ring?"

Arthur laughed, lightly smacking Alfred on the arm. He had become less likely to explode into a flustered fit these days when such jokes were made. Even if Alfred meant them, Arthur would just tell himself he didn't and laugh. It was only a fun laugh when Alfred would join in too. It was when he didn't that Arthur stopped and changed the subject.

Finally, the box was opened. Alfred pulled off the top and stopped. Arthur was worried that he wouldn't like it. Then, Alfred pulled out two small buttons. One was red that said "I love LON" with a heart for the word "love", the second, white with the same design, only it said the same for NYC. Alfred looked to Arthur, speechless.

"I…I saw them and thought you'd like them both. You've told me before how much you love both cities, and well…"

But Arthur's muddled words were cut off as Alfred hugged him tight. Arthur smiled, closed his eyes, and hugged him back. They stood there on the balcony, invisible to the party. They moved and shared a quick and sweet kiss on the lips. Nothing more, just a friendly kiss. That's what Arthur told himself as he cupped Alfred's face. Alfred caressed his cheek.

Parting, Alfred looked down at his buttons. "Well, I'm not sure which one to wear! I mean, it would almost be traitorous to wear the London one, but I'm already in the city, so it would be rude to keep it out."

Arthur laughed, taking them both. He pinned one on each side of his shirt. "There. You love them both."

Alfred looked out at London, pulling Arthur close. "My heart goes to each. I didn't think I would like England as much, but I think it's because I met you. If I hadn't met you, I don't think I'd still be here. Probably moved back home or something."

Arthur gulped. "You…You wouldn't really, would you?"

"Not now. I can't bear to leave." Alfred smiled as he put his arm around Arthur's shoulder. "I'd miss you too much."

Arthur's eyes softened. "And I you."

"And hey, next year, we totally have to celebrate the Fourth again! This is your first, right?"

"Yes. I was going to find some fireworks, but I didn't have nearly enough time."

Alfred waved it off. "It's fine. We'll just celebrate Guy Fawkes Day and the Fourth this year to make up for it."

"Kind of awkward, don't you think?" Arthur asked with a laugh.

"Ah, our countries are super close, so I'm sure it'll be fine."

Arthur thought of something suddenly. He told Alfred to wait as he slipped back inside. He avoided the mass of people conversing on his couch and around his table. Gentleman had been locked away in Arthur's bedroom, much to his dismay. Arthur went into his kitchen, finding exactly what he needed.

He appeared back on the balcony, hands behind his back. Alfred turned to him with a smile. Arthur returned it, but with his own devious look.

"What? What'cha got there?"

Arthur pulled from behind a box of tea. He held it out to Alfred who laughed in confusion. "A present, from your old Empire to you, one of the most successful colonies we ever had. Tax free."

Alfred leaned back and laughed loudly into the evening. "Wow, thanks! I'll be sure to drink it this time."

They laughed together. Arthur pulled over some chairs. They sat, watching as the city grew dark, only to light up with the nightlife. Alfred looked over to Arthur.

"Isn't it amazing that after everything that happened between our countries we're all super close?"

Arthur nodded. "I guess it shows that time can heal all wounds. Both of our people must be mature enough to move on."

"Either that or we were always destined to be close. Besides, we saved you."

Arthur looked at Alfred, a fond smile on his lips. For just tonight, he would be a little more forward. He leaned over from his chair and kissed Alfred again. He took his hands, squeezing them affectionately as he did. Alfred looked at Arthur with a smile as they pulled away.

"Yes you did…"

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: This is not a chapter to _Rainbow Veins_, however it is later on in that AU. There are some spoilers. Not too major, though. I kept those out. I hope you all enjoyed. I love writing stories where Arthur/England is having his first 4th of July. I think they are cute.


	5. July 5th Military

**Day 5- Military:** Any sector of the armed forces is welcome here, from both the US and the UK. Whether it's America and England in uniform, in combat, attending a military observance, or in another military role, everything is welcome. Military from ANY era is okay.

* * *

><p>"Hey! Look what I found!" America came from around the corner into his kitchen. He was carrying a see-through plastic bag with a brown outfit hanging inside.<p>

England had been preparing a cup of tea by the stove. He looked over. An eyebrow rose at seeing the bag. "What is it?"

America turned the bag around, revealing a recognizable jacket. "My old WWII uniform!"

England's eyes lit up. He turned towards America with a smile, cup in hand. "Well doesn't that bring back memories? Does it still fit?"

"It should." America looked at the uniform. He pulled the plastic up, running his hand along the material. "I mean, I'm still in top shape like I was back in the 40s."

"I doubt that," England mumbled into his cup. "Anyways, why not try it on?"

America slipped away to do so. When he returned, England could easily smell the old leather jacket from afar. It was so musty, England's nose wrinkled at the stale scent. Still, America had been able to get the entire uniform on without any problems. It fit him like a glove, curving along his form and shaping him perfectly. England's eyes trailed all along his outline. He felt like he was being given a little treat at this surprise.

"Wonderful," England mused aloud. "The next time you visit, I shall have to find my uniform as well."

"Yeah!" He watched as England moved up beside him. "Come on, you know you love this uniform."

"I never said I didn't." England's hands itched to touch him, but held back. He preferred it'd be later, when he was in uniform too.

Two weeks later, he was in just that. He had managed to find his uniform in a hope chest tucked away in his basement where a few other WWII memorabilia was in storage. Often times, England would wander down to clear his head, think back on his past, and then move on with his life. It was good for him to think back because it tended to give him clear direction of where to go next.

Surprisingly, the uniform fit England well too. He revealed it to America who had also changed back into his old uniform. Together, they marveled at how not much about them on the outside had changed.

"It's so nostalgic," England said with a sigh. He stood in the living room with America. His eyes still roamed freely over the other man's tailored form.

If America minded, he made no mention of it. "It makes me think of when I first saw you wear this."

"Yeah? What did you think?"

America ran his hands over England's arms slowly. He stepped closer and looked down at England. A small smile spread across his lips. "How you make this outfit look good…"

England blushed, ducking his head. "America…"

"Do you remember what you thought of me?" he asked. He bent his head to nip at England's neck.

England gasped, tilting his head back. He closed his eyes, fondly recalling the day he did see America wearing this very same uniform. The smell from two weeks ago, that old smell on the jacket, rushed into England's nose. He found it wasn't hard to recall his thoughts. After all, that smell was actually from decades prior. "I thought something…along those same lines…"

After a moment of America littering England's neck with hickeys, England's knees began to go weak. He gripped at America's arms, and pushed him away slightly. He bent his head, taking his turn at savoring at America's neck. America sighed, whispering England's name.

"America…," England whispered. His breath was hot on America's neck. He licked at a small red spot. "Let's have sex in these uniforms…"

"Yeah… Like our first time."

Hearing America's deep voice cracked England. He pushed America down roughly, sitting atop him. He pulled on America's tie with his teeth. In turn, America gripped at his hips, rolling his own into England. They moaned lightly, working to undo the other's belts and pants. But neither made a move to pull them off or undress in any way. England pushed his face into America's jacket, inhaling event scent of it.

He could remember every single time they were together through that jacket. It held all the smells of their fights around Europe; even a few in the Pacific. It smelled mainly of dust and old soot from guns and explosions. But there was the food, faintly etched into the sleeves. Somewhere in the lining of the jacket was England's own faint smell. The only time England wore the jacket were the times after they had made love in their tents. America would drape it on him as they fell asleep.

Remembering the long nights in the tents made England groan. "In our tent…"

"Oh yeah," America replied with a chuckle. "We tried to be quiet."

England grinned. "I'm pretty sure our men heard us."

America moved up to wrap an arm around England's neck. He pulled him down enough to ghost his lips over England's. His voice was low; husky with lust. "I don't care."

Hips rolled into each other, brushing their erections against the other. Both moaned. America's head fell back, his eyes closed. England watched him. He leaned down so his face could press into the jacket once more. America's larger hands pulled against England's butt, forcing them to rub against each other again.

By now, England's pants had trickled down enough so that his ass was bare in the living room. His hand snaked down so that his fingers could penetrate himself. America watched. England clenched his eyes and called America's name.

"You know… back then… We went too long without having sex…," America panted.

He jerked when England's other hand pinched his nipple. England smirked down at America, kissing his nose. "Yes… we did…"

America removed his glasses. He lay back, watching the view of England preparing himself. It was too hot, too tight. He felt his own cock twitching in anticipation. It was just like back then, only the hardwood floors of England's living room was much more comfortable than the floor of a tent or the cramped room of a cot. Thinking back on all those heated nights made America begin to touch himself. He pulled his erection free, hand pumping himself until semen began to dribble out.

"I loved…calling your name…the first time," he moaned.

England caught on to what America was doing. He pushed his hand away, and enveloped America's penis with his own hand. "M-me too… A-Alfred!"

America moved up quickly. He kissed England again, but it was short as both were restless with eagerness of the oncoming sex. England shifted so that his legs were on both sides of America. America moved his own legs so his knees were bent. Slowly, England pulled America's cock into him. He gasped, heading falling down onto his chest. America's hand moved to caress England's face as they waited for him to adjust.

Slowly, America moved his hips up. England moaned, hands pressing onto America's chest. He begged for America to take him. Who was America to deny him? He started bucking his hips, then rolling into them, and finally coming to a combination of both. England cried America's human name.

America reached up, tugging at England's tie. "It's so hot… You in this uniform."

"Nngh!" England groaned. He pulled on America's jacket. "Your jacket! Oh!"

America moved up. He pulled England out for a moment, and turned him so that England was on his knees. He took off his jacket and placed it on England's shoulders. Quickly, he pushed back in, hands on England's hips as he did so. He pulled and pushed at England, licking at his ears to make England whine.

"Our first time…," England heaved. "So rough…"

"On a cot…"

"So hot… The Italian summer…"

"Arthur…!"

"Alfred!"

America fell back onto his own butt. He pulled England into his lap. England situated himself so that America was fully inside of him again. America's hands worked at pinching England's nipples as well as jerk him off. All the while, England called out his name, sometimes gasping out old memories. They pushed and pulled at one another, shuddering against the other, and trying to find the other's mouth to give a sloppy kiss.

After a time, England came. His cum smeared across America's jacket. It wasn't the first time that poor leather was tarnished by the white semen. America came not soon after. He finished with the last few thrusts, falling backwards after he had completely released himself.

He pulled England back to lie on his chest. England clutched at the jacket just as he had all those decades ago. Together, they laughed breathlessly.

"Just like back then," England mumbled. He nuzzled his face into America's neck. "Yes…just like back then."

"Only now, we actually tell each other we love them." America kissed England's head. "I waited forever to hear you say it."

"Yes, well, I could say the same for you."

Falling asleep together, they didn't imagine being back at those times. That would mean they'd have to wake up soon and depart from one another, terrified if the other would get hurt. That meant they'd be at war still. That would mean they wouldn't be in love, but just starting out in what would be a long and awkward relationship. Neither could handle that again. Just now was fine.

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: I honestly had no idea how to finish this one. Ah hah…

So my first smutty fic for the event! YAY! But I am back and will be updating regularly now! Sweet! Thanks for reading!


	6. July 6th Fast Food

**Day 6- Fast food**: Fairly self-explanatory. Be creative with this! Really, we won't be picky. It doesn't need to be an actual fast food establishment they're at. They can be at a park picnicking, cooking out, etc. Just casual dining, or something featuring a traditionally fast food item.

* * *

><p>Royal food was meant to be luxurious and grandiose, never rotten or burnt in any way. Arthur had grown accustomed to this type of food all of his life and therefore had never seen any reason to try his hand at cooking. He thought that perhaps now would be as good a time as any.<p>

It was coming on Alfred's birthday, and a King should get a royal breakfast. Arthur hadn't been the nicest of Queens to him as of late, preferring to scold him and shut him down for any of his ideas, especially the more liberal ones. However, Alfred had become close to what Arthur supposed was what a friend would be like. He'd never had a friend before, and suddenly he was thrust into the position of being a Queen. Surprisingly he found himself with two friends; Alfred and Yao.

Yao had been much more level headed these past few months, growing much closer to Arthur in a shorter amount of time. Alfred, however, had taken some time. As it was, Arthur wasn't quite sure where their friendship was at present, but he knew that upon waking on Alfred's birthday he wanted to make him a breakfast.

Arthur hailed from the England county; a community well known for its abundance in Two's and Three's. The Two's brought about the regal sense of nobility to them, while the Three's provided the arts in literature, theater, and paintings. There were many customs from the English lands that Arthur still loved to reminisce about, especially that of a full English breakfast.

However, Arthur had forgotten that when he was still a Two he had never done any type of manual labor before, especially not cook. Upon entering the kitchen, he ordered the staff to help him, but not to actually cook. The head chef tried his hand at giving advice to the Queen, but Arthur's short temper blew when the eggs burned and the meat slipped on the floor. The only thing that had turned out right was the tea, but that wasn't even for Alfred. He knew the King hated tea and would always choose coffee over it.

With a heavy heart, Arthur took the rotten breakfast up to Alfred, hoping that maybe he'd be too tired to notice it was destroyed. Yao was already at his seat in the morning room; a room where the three of them met to discuss the day's proceedings. He looked up and over when Arthur entered.

"Good morning, Art-what is that?" Yao pointed, horrified, at the tray where the plate of scalded food sat.

"Breakfast…for Alfred," Arthur replied dismally.

"_Aiyah_!" Yao got up to peer at the food. He looked at Arthur, both eyebrows raised. "Haven't you ever cooked?"

Before Arthur could reply, the door burst open. Alfred marched in with a bright smile as he danced to his chair.

"Yeah! I am so ready for this par-tay for my birthday!" He took a seat. "Hey Arthur, what's that?"

Arthur teared up, slamming the tray on the table. Alfred jumped, unsure of what was wrong. Arthur didn't say anything as he stormed out of the room. Yao and Alfred watched him leave, speechless. Then Alfred turned his sights on the meal.

"Did he make this?"

"Yes," Yao replied with a sigh. "It was for your birthday."

"Oh…" Alfred pulled it closer. "I totally didn't even know what it was. I was just asking a question."

Again, Yao sighed. "I know, but I believe Arthur is very embarrassed by the outcome of his work."

Alfred nodded. "He's a Two- a noble. He's not used to do anything like this."

Looking down at the ruined breakfast, Alfred felt rather bad for having Arthur get so upset about something, especially something he had actually made for him. A birthday gift. Arthur had been slowly opening up to Alfred, finally. Alfred took any opportunity for the two of them to become closer. He felt miserable for letting this one slip by.

After a time, Alfred excused himself and sought out Arthur. He found him in the rose garden, tending to the flowers as always. At first, he didn't know what to say to Arthur. It was already awfully awkward between them as it was. They came from too different backgrounds. Arthur the noble Two while Arthur was the rough and tough One. He would've been an Ace like his father had he not become King first.

Then, something hit him. He smiled as he slid up beside Arthur.

"Come to gloat?" Arthur mumbled. He wasn't the least bit surprised that Alfred had found him.

Alfred furrowed his brow. "Why would I gloat? I came to thank you for the meal."

Arthur turned towards him, mouth open as if he were ready to argue. The expression on his face suggested he was angry. Alfred decided he would cut him off.

"And to say that I think your gift was great, but I think we should have lunch instead. My treat."

Arthur promptly closed his mouth. He seemed generally confused, but turned to Alfred nonetheless. He thought better of arguing with Alfred, seeing as it was his birthday and all. Alfred smiled upon Arthur agreeing to this lunch.

"Great! Let's get dressed and head out into the city!" Alfred exclaimed. He took Arthur's hand, turning for the castle. Arthur protested behind him, but had no choice. He followed with a fuss, but didn't attempt to spoil the plans.

* * *

><p>The city was notified of King Alfred and Queen Arthur's arrival and began anticipating their surprise visit. Shops displayed their nicest items, restaurants reserved their best seats in case the two stopped for a bite to eat at their location, and music blasted from every open window to greet the monarchy. The people crowded the streets in anticipation for a glimpse at their new leaders. Alfred, Arthur, and Yao had only been recently inducted into the monarchy. Everyone wanted a moment to see them.<p>

An old horse-drawn carriage rode through the streets. Alfred peered out the window, waving at a few people, until he told the driver to halt. They were helped out of their coach. Arthur looked around at the people, noting the differences between him and them.

The monarchy was strictly traditional while the kingdom was turning to steam powered technology. Around them were buildings that rose into the skies, steam pumping out from the gears turning that allowed the citizens to get electricity. On the way over, Arthur counted numerous cars sputtering by. Alfred had been trying to pass through the Congress for the monarchy to turn to this steam fad with little success. Still, Arthur knew that he was making the first steam-powered aero plane, and had been caught using the technology to communicate with his kingdom, specifically to parts of the land that were spread far apart, reaching as far as the county of China where Yao hailed from.

Still, the people didn't seem to mind. They bowed politely, hoping to entice the couple into their stores. Alfred, however, had his mind set on what was perhaps the worst place to have lunch. He chose to head straight for a rushed restaurant, as they were called. Arthur had heard of such establishments, but associated them with the poor as they had low prices and even lower quality food. Still, Alfred motioned for Arthur to follow.

People gawked at they entered the building. Arthur's nose cringed as he smelled the greasy atmosphere. He watched Alfred stride up to the counter and order an American burger. Alfred, having come from the American county which shared a border with the Spades capital county, was used to the harsher food. It was well known that the American county used more questionable methods to making food than the other counties. Still, the England county had picked up on this and started a trend of copying a similar fashion of making food. Arthur hadn't had a chance to jump on the bandwagon and try out these rushed foods, though, escaping his opportunity to see if he even liked American food.

Alfred called for Arthur to come and order. Arthur was hesitant as he approached the counter. He looked at the menu, unsure of what anything meant. He had only recently heard what a "burger" was when talking to Alfred; or rather when Alfred blabbered on about his home county. Upon receiving the actual meal, Arthur stared at it. It looked no better than his catastrophe of a breakfast, smelling only slightly better as it wasn't burnt to a crisp.

The two moved to take a seat in a booth, but they really could have any place they wanted. The entire restaurant had cleared out, only to be filled with their Aces that stood on guard at the doors.

Alfred watched, waiting for Arthur to try his meal. He frowned when Arthur hadn't even attempted to pick at either his burger or fries. "What's wrong? Don't you want it?"

"It's just…" Arthur glanced up at Alfred. He felt terrible that it was his birthday and yet he had made Alfred take him out. He was nervous, more for his stomach than anything, but the least he could do was try the food Alfred had insisted he try. "I was just letting it cool."

Alfred smiled, none the wiser to Arthur's true reasons for stalling. "It's best when warm. Eat it up. It's really good."

Finally, Arthur let go of his inhibitions. He reached for a fork, preparing to cut it as he would any other meal. Alfred stopped him by picking up his own burger. Alfred flushed, forgetting that a lot of American foods were finger foods. Setting aside the fork, Arthur picked up the burger, noting how incredibly wet the package felt.

It's just grease, he reminded himself. Or the sauce. Either way, it should be fine. It's not like I eat this every day. Yes, and it's for Alfred.

Alfred watched Arthur anxiously as he ate the burger whole. He said nothing until it was all gone. Then, he moved on to the fries and ate them as well. All the while, Arthur had a stoic expression making it impossible for Alfred to tell whether or not he liked it. Finally, Alfred finished off his meal and looked at Arthur.

"Well?" he asked, wiping his face with a napkin. "What did you think?"

Arthur looked at Alfred as well. He folded his hands in his lap, sitting upright. "Do you have this often in your county?"

"I can't have it too much, not when I was in training. Pops was against it as it's a little bad for you," Alfred replied. He seemed a little nervous."B-but it's favorite meal."

"Why did you take me here?" Arthur continued with his questions.

"Ah, well, you tried to make me something really over the top, when really I prefer simple foods." Alfred looked to his lap, blushing slightly. "A-and I wanted you to try something from my county… I know you've never had it before."

"You're right. I haven't." Arthur's tone was sharp. He didn't sound too happy with his lunch. "Thank you for sharing this with me. It was…interesting."

"So you liked it?" Alfred snapped his head up, hopeful. "We can try more food from my county!"

Arthur blushed. He looked at his sleeve, toying with it until it frayed. He'd have to give it to his staff later. But now it served as a good distraction to hide Arthur's reaction. He figured he better tell Alfred how he felt.

"I…I didn't hate it… but… it certainly wasn't better than England's food."

To Arthur's surprise, Alfred began laughing. He leaned back as he filled the air with his laugh. Arthur stared at him. He was unsure of what was so funny.

"England's food _sucks_. Everyone in the kingdom knows that. Hell, the other kingdoms know it!"

Arthur stood up, leaning over the table. "Don't say that, you tosser! You lot just don't know a good food when it hits your measly taste buds!"

Again, Alfred continued to laugh. Meanwhile, people watched from the windows. They all wondered what joy their new monarchy could derive from eating at a rushed restaurant. Somehow, the scene didn't bother them as much. It looked natural. Alfred ordered more food, forcing Arthur to try more American cuisine. He seemed to enjoy the chocolate malts, much to Alfred's pleasure. Eventually, though, the citizens dispersed and prepared for Alfred's birthday party that evening.

After a time, Alfred and Arthur headed home. Yao greeted them on their return, happy to see their spirits had drastically improved since that morning, Arthur's especially. Word had spread back to the castle by then, allowing Yao the chance to know the situation before he had even spotted the bickering couple. By now they had moved to a playful banter on the differences between crisps and fries.

That night, the chefs had put on the royal menu a new food item; a hamburger. It was Arthur's birthday gift to Alfred. But he wouldn't tell Alfred the next day when he saw it appear just who had put it on there. He faked his unimpressed reaction so as not to give Alfred any ideas.

Alfred faked his own obliviousness to who could have possibly requested a burger be put on the menu so as not to lead on that he knew.

And Yao sat back and watched, enjoying the blossoming romance between his King and Queen.

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: This came to me this morning and I loved every minute of writing this story.

This is actually an off-shot of my brand new series I will be writing soon. Still has no name, so sorry about that. As you can tell, it's a cardverse AU. I'm very proud of the outcome and I hope everyone enjoys it when I begin updating. I hope you also enjoyed today's prompt!


	7. July 7th Aviation

**Day 7- Aviation:** Keep 'em flying! Aviation is the theme here. You are welcome to use planes, but you do not have to. ANY airborne device is okay- windsails, hot air balloons, blimps, etc. Just as long as aviation is somehow featured; whether it's aviation clothing they're wearing, or they're in a craft, or whatever.

* * *

><p>"I remember a time when you were so young you imagined you were a plane. You zipped around with your arms out making those ridiculous noises. Most of the time you did so out in the front yard. Mum and dad watched you from the porch, Matt by their side, refusing to join in. I just laughed because I knew one day, my little brother would one day be in the sky.<p>

"When you were ten, dad began taking us all to air shows. You loved every single one. I was dragged from the old, war-worn planes to the sleek, modern planes. At every single exhibit you would read me the information. I didn't care, but I never told you. Matt slipped away because he found planes to be as boring as I did. Still, I remained and helped you with the harder words as you continued with overzealous enthusiasm.

"When the planes flew overhead, you sat in a stunned silence. Mum commented that it was the quietest you'd ever been. And some time during the performance you grabbed my hand. You were shaking. I smiled, patting your hand, and said that one day you'd be in the sky.

"It wasn't until you were sixteen that you began pilot training. Mum was scared, as was Matt, but he never told you. I had moved to Uni by then, but still you would call me every day to tell me your progress. I think dad was proud, but he could only be heard complaining about the amount of money it cost. I still can recall the first day you lifted off.

"After you had landed, you rushed into my arms. I laughed, patting your head even though you were taller than me by now. You only blabbered on about what it was like to be in the air. At one point, you stopped to stare up at the clouds. I looked back at you. You seemed older than me; wiser than I'd ever know. At that moment, you didn't seem like my little brother.

"A year later, you said you wanted to join the air force.

"The next year, you got glasses. You cried so hard. The air force doesn't take those with poor eyesight.

"You went to Uni in America, breaking mum's heart. Dad griped about the price, but let you go. You had your heart set on the sky still. Matt followed along only to keep an eye on you. I didn't cry when you left. I couldn't. I'd miss you, but you were my little brother. I'd see you again.

"We wrote e-mails. Kept in touch from time to time through snail mail. I always preferred the letters to the e-mails. The letters had your handwriting. It felt more personal. Sometimes you sent photographs, knowing I loved America's countryside. I posted every single one up around my work space once I graduated and started working in the job force.

"Seeing me in a business job, you once told me you'd never be in the same position. You couldn't stand to be stationary, doing the same thing every day. I believed you. Because I knew you were better than that. I never told you. I should have.

"Last year, you came home to visit. We went to the air show again. This time you could tell me every single plane and their history without reading the placards. You even said words I didn't know. You'd grown so much. I wanted to tell you I was happy. I wanted to tell you I love you. I didn't. I just sat and watched the planes with you.

"Last week, you were killed. In a plane crash. It had been too rough of weather. I remember hearing the phone call from Matt. I didn't believe him. Even when dad called I didn't believe it. It wasn't until I heard dad cry that I did. I cried.

"Al, I cried. I never cry. You know I don't. But I did. Because all your life you wanted to be in the sky, to fly. It's like you were obsessed with the thing that would eventually kill you. I was angry at first. Angry at God and at you. Angry that you had loved something so great that it took you so far away from us. Mad that you're my little brother of only twenty-three, and you died.

"But then I realized something. You're there, in the sky. Forever. And that's never something I could be mad about because it's where you always belonged. I told you, didn't I? When you were young. That'd you'd be in the sky.

"And there you'll always be."

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: This is what happens when Hoshiko is in a rather sad mood. I wasn't even going to update today as I didn't have any idea what to do. It came to me less than an hour ago. I hope you liked it, even if it was amazingly sad. I apologize for such sadness in the middle of all this happiness. Tomorrow's will be better, I hope.


	8. July 8th Music

**Day 8- Music:** Music is a huge part of culture, and this theme is all about that. Anything to do with music is fair game. Singing, playing instruments, listening to music, dancing to music, talking about music, etc.

* * *

><p>"So do you still like punk music?"<p>

I looked over, surprised at Alfred's random question. I was outside under a tree when he had appeared. I had been smoking a cigarette. Alfred wasn't deterred by this as he took a spot next to me. He explained that his class had let out early and he knew I'd be here. This tree had become my regular smoking spot as it was further away from people, enough space to give me some private time. Well, I didn't mind Alfred joining me from time to time.

Twirling the stick in my fingers, I found it hard to believe he asked me if I still liked punk music. I was still wearing rather dark clothes and my other band was still together. Granted I wasn't _as _involved in the scene as I had been during our break-up, but I didn't see any reason to be anymore. I had run to the punk atmosphere in order to escape the pain of losing Alfred after an awful separation. With Alfred back I preferred to spend my time with him rather than face Dev's constant looks of rejection.

"Yes," I finally replied having come up with a simple answer.

"Oh." Alfred sounded satisfied. Looking out of the corner of my eye I could tell he wasn't. He chewed his lower lip, thinking.

"Why do you ask?"

Alfred rubbed the back of his head. "Um, well… I thought maybe I could try my hand at playing in your other band."

I snapped my head over at Alfred. Was this a joke? He wasn't looking at me, finding the grass at his feet much more interesting. Blush had spread all the way to his ears. Slowly, I smiled, but not from his comment. No, he was still as cute as he'd been back in high school.

"B-but if you don't want me there, th-then I can totally just sit out or something." Alfred began prattling, his hands tumbling around before him. Still he didn't look at me. "I mean, I just miss you when you go to band practice and come home late. And you never invite me to your performances. It's just that, you know, I, well. I guess I'm a little interested and I just-I miss you!"

I waited until he was done to lean over, kissing his cheek. He looked at me, finally. I smiled, cupping his chin with my free hand. "You want to take an interest in my hobby?"

"W-well… It's just that… Eliza said it'd be good for us. Less distance." More blush appeared on his face.

He had been going to Elizaveta for help on our relationship since we got back together. It's not that I minded too much, but sometimes I wished he'd just go with what he felt like doing rather than ask someone. Nevertheless I found it endearing he missed me and was curious about a lifestyle I had for almost over a year that I still clung to.

"If you wish, there's practice tonight. I see no reason why you can't join me."

Relief seeped into his eyes. Seeing his face light up like that made me smile wider. I kissed him quickly. He hated the taste of cigarette and had asked I stopped. Sadly it was a habit I didn't see myself dropping anytime soon, even if I grew out of this punk phase.

"You're the best!" Alfred exclaimed. He pulled me into his arms while laughing.

I stubbed out my fag, scooting to sit in Alfred's lap. I kissed his jaw. "Don't you forget it."

* * *

><p>It was about the time I opened the door to Angela's new flat that it struck me that this was perhaps the worst idea I had come up with. Dev was vehemently against me dating Alfred, saying that he wasn't good for me. Zeke thought it strange I was dating such a "goody-two shoes". Angela, though, had no opinion of him. She mentioned once or twice that she found him attractive, but that was the most she let on about her thoughts.<p>

Still, stranger things had been known to happen in my life. There was a chance that everyone could learn to get along just fine.

Alfred was in awe of Angela's apartment from the moment I stepped in. She was very much so into retro 50s style despite her punk exterior. Old posters of cartoon styled women littered her wall. A faded Union Jack hung overhead, a gift I'd given her only recently. Her loveseat and 50s diner-esque coffee table had been shoved to the side, making way for our equipment. The only thing that always remained in place was the large red and black rug underneath her drum set and our amps.

"Hello," I called as I shut the door. "We have a guest tonight. Hope none of you mind."

Dev had been working on tuning his guitar when he looked up and over. Surprisingly he turned away with little interest. I wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad sign. He could very easily be trying to look cool in order to impress me.

It was Zeke who was most upset. He crossed his arms and glared at Alfred. "No. We agreed that there would be no significant others here. This is us time."

"He wants to play." I nodded at the guitar he held in his hand. "He can play some."

"We don't need _another_ guitarist," Zeke spat. I could feel the venom from where I stood and he was a good few meters away from me.

"I was going to sit out tonight," I said casually.

Zeke's mouth fell open. "But we've got a show coming up soon! We need to practice!"

"I'll only play a few sets," Alfred said cheerfully. He hadn't caught on to the fact he was quite unwelcome. "I just want to see what Artie does here, that's all."

I jabbed my elbow into Alfred's side. "Don't call me that."

Alfred laughed, moving towards the others. "Aw, you know you love it! So, where do I set up?"

"You can set up right here," Angela said. She pointed at a spot in front of her set. "This is my apartment and it's my rules. He can stay, but just for tonight."

Zeke looked at Dev as if expecting him to protest too. And yet, Dev did nothing. I shrugged, and squatted on the floor. Angela was fine that I smoke inside, so I pulled out my lighter and watched Alfred set up. I had agreed to him borrowing my bass for the evening. Antonio had taught him a little bit over the past few months. When he was good enough, I took over the reins. It had been fun, something for us to bond over. Graciously Alfred was a very fast learner. In a short amount of time he had become a rather good amateur guitarist. Somewhere along the way he even picked up harmonica skills.

Usually I didn't have my music sheets, but seeing as Alfred would be playing the songs for the first time I remembered to bring them along. I propped my chin up on my palms by resting my elbows on my knees. This would definitely be interesting.

The band tended to play much faster music than Alfred was used to. He enjoyed a style more suited to country. His tempo could go, at the very least, to pop. Having him play punk would test his skills, and temperament.

Despite the fact we were dating once again, that didn't clear up all of our problems. His anger management was still there, but was dropping rapidly the less time he was with his father. Moving in with me helped as he could hug me at any given moment, claiming that it calmed him. I didn't protest, save for when I was in irritable moods. Even still I would let him get away with even brief hugs if only to make him smile.

"All right," Zeke started. "ONE TWO THREE FOUR!"

Dev and Zeke wailed on their guitars, Angela bashed on her drums, and Alfred looked lost. The band continued to play without him. He squinted at the sheet, and willed his fingers to keep up with the tempo.

I love Alfred. I do. I honestly do. But he was such an idiot sometimes. I felt horrible for snorting into my hand as I laughed at his fumbling. By the time he had caught up, Zeke called everyone to stop. The band glared at Alfred.

He smiled sheepishly. "Ah… Sorry. I misread the time signature. C-can we go again?"

Dev shook his head, looking away. "Just keep up, all right?"

"Okay."

Zeke wasted no time in shouting off the numbers again and striking the first chords. This time Alfred was able to keep pace. He stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, narrowing his eyes. I watched him all the while. He really was quite adorable.

By the end of the first song he had sweat a little. He wasn't going to back down. That pride and bravado wouldn't allow it. He'd show my friends what for. He'd show me that he could do what I did. He was trying to prove to me that he was just as interested, even when I knew he wasn't in the slightest. But if it was for me, why stand in his way? He hurt me deeply not too recently. Let him work.

Three songs had gone by with few screw-ups from Alfred by the time Angela called a break. She vanished into her kitchen, appearing with five bottles of beer. She handed them to each of us, smiling at Alfred when he took his.

"You guys are awesome," Alfred commented. He grinned at all of them, but only Angela returned it. "I can see why Arthur loves playing with you."

Dev said nothing as Zeke grunted his acknowledgment. He didn't compliment Alfred or even attempt to be friendly. It made no sense. I thought Dev was the one with the crush on me. But maybe he felt Alfred was too far out of his comfort zone to find anything to talk about. He did seem awkward and nervous standing near him.

"You guys should see our band!" Alfred declared.

"That might not be a bad idea," Dev said suddenly. He now looked interested. Turning to me he asked, "Why don't we come next practice?"

I blushed slightly. The band would stick out like a sore thumb, and there were more members than them. No one liked them. Felix would have a fashion panic attack at their attire alone. Matt, still so shy, would probably find any excuse to leave.

"I don't know. We have a show this weekend and…"

"Perfect!" Dev interrupted. "We'll go to your show."

Angela agreed with a hearty nod. She looked at Zeke. He didn't look thrilled, but he didn't protest. This was probably because he was outnumbered. Begrudgingly he agreed.

For the remainder of the evening Alfred took my spot against the wall while I played the sets for next week's show. He watched me with bright eyes, soaking in how I played. He once told me that the one time he saw me play, back when we were still separated, he was captivated by how I moved on stage. He loved seeing my hips swing from side to side and my head banging. But the one thing he loved the most was when I closed my eyes, falling into the music.

He claimed I did the same thing when we played in And All That Jazz.

* * *

><p>Saturday was upon me all too quickly. I had set up the piano with ease, and then rushed outside to meet Dev and the gang. They looked unimpressed as they sauntered up to the cabaret. It was on campus, not something as posh as where we'd play next week at the local night club. But the band preferred to keep it low-key. No one was aiming to make it big, we only played for fun. Besides, we had gained quite a lot of popularity from the student body.<p>

I showed them inside, taking them right to the front where the Journalism majors usually were allowed to roam. Alfred saw the group and waved enthusiastically from the stage.

Zeke scoffed to my side. "He's so damn happy all the time."

"Not all the time," I said. "He's had his share of bad days."

Again, Zeke was upset. His tone had turned vicious once more without Alfred having done anything. "I bet he's never seen a really bad day in his life."

An aggressive, protective side pounced out from me. I kept my cool as I stopped to stare at Zeke. He didn't seem intimidated by my expression. "Don't judge him before you know him. He's gone through just as much as anyone else in this place, even more than me. So don't think he only shits rainbows. He's happy because you guys actually came. Unlike you, he's trying to be nice."

Dev coughed from the side. "Hey, we're trying to be nice. If we weren't we wouldn't be here."

Angela sighed, pulling Zeke away. "It's his time of the month. Lighten up you two. Go and play, Arthur. We'll be here."

I huffed, walking away. I felt guilty for letting my anger get to me, but I hated the thought of belittling Alfred when he was so strong. He's only happy now because he knows the value of life, the joy it can truly bring. He didn't take anything, especially not a performance or time spent with our band mates, for granted.

With a sigh, I took my seat at the piano. My fingers itched to begin playing, but we were waiting for Gilbert and Alfred to finish warming up. They played a few notes, smirking at the other in a silent competition to finish their practice before the other. Felix did a short drum roll, and then spun the drum sticks around on his fingers.

A moment later we began with our opener. We had decided to try some more Sinatra, given that it was always a hit. Francis had insisted on "Luck Be a Lady", ignoring the fact that Roderich pointed out that it was a cover Sinatra did and not his actual song. Still, we all agreed as it was a fun song to get people in the mood.

The night went over well and plenty of people danced, obviously enjoying our music. At one point Alfred had moved to stand beside me while he played. When he waited for his next part, he put his hand on my shoulder, giving me an affectionate squeeze. I smiled in return, unable to actually look at him. But he knew.

Our closing act brought about a loud applause. I stood to bow, smiling as I saw Angela clapping with an earnest smile. Zeke and Dev were as well, but they didn't appear happy. The band moved down off of the stage. Alfred rushed to get us all drinks without asking, knowing what everyone wanted. I approached Dev and the others.

"That was awesome!" Angela exclaimed. I wasn't used to such excitement from her. She was usually so reserved to the point I thought she was apathetic. "My mom used to play jazz when I was a kid, so I recognized some of the covers you did."

I grinned. "Thanks. I didn't know you had a streak of other musical interests in you."

She shrugged. "I may play punk, but I still like other stuff. You just never asked."

"True." I looked to the other two members. "What did you think?"

Zeke shrugged. "It was all right. I don't like jazz."

"You really got into the music," Dev said. He wasn't looking at me. His eyes kept to the floor, reminding me of Alfred back by the tree just days prior. "It was…well…I couldn't keep my eyes off of you."

Alfred returned just then, saving me from being horribly uncomfortable. He handed me my drink, and kissed my head. "We are a HIT tonight!"

I laughed after taking a sip of my beverage. "You don't say? I couldn't tell from the crowd."

"Glad you guys came!" Alfred noticed the others. "So! Do you think you can play jazz?"

No one really wanted to reply. Angela, despite her gusto for it earlier, didn't look like she was ready to jump in with the rest of us and play saxophone. Dev was still staring at the floor while Zeke looked at Alfred irritated. Something about this situation bothered me. Yes, they had come to watch, but they weren't really trying. Not like Alfred had.

Alfred had come to practice, attempted to get to know everyone, and even tried his hand at playing. Granted this was a performance as compared to an informal session, but the principal of the matter still remained. He wanted to see if there was a chance we could grow closer from knowing another side of my life, whereas it felt like Dev and Zeke were there because Alfred posed to be a threat.

In that moment, I felt disgusted. I moved closer to Alfred, taking his hand. "I'm going to go talk to my other mates. I'll see you later."

Without waiting I left. Alfred called his good-bye as I tugged him away. I didn't make it to the others. A mix CD had begun playing in the speakers overhead as the crowd waited for the next band to arrive. I stopped, pulled Alfred into my arms and began dancing with him. He seemed generally pleased with the turn of events, holding my around my waist.

"What's up?" he asked. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

"Mad?" I looked at him, stunned. "Why would I be mad?"

"Well, I know you like to go with your other friends to give us some space," Alfred stared. He was rambling again. "I'm sorry if I butt in and stuff. I just… you know. Those guys hate me. I wanted them to like me."

"I don't." I kissed his cheek. "I like that they don't. That gives me all the more reason to love you."

Alfred nuzzled into my head, pulling me close. The music no longer fit the mood, and people had moved on to dancing wildly to the pop music. Neither of us cared.

"I love you," Alfred mumbled into my hair.

"I know…"

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: I admit. I miss this story. Sometimes I think of their life after graduating. On my tumblr I wrote a little hint of what they're wedding would be like, just for fun. While out today, I thought this prompt of the day would be perfect for this universe. So I hope you all enjoyed the revisit!


	9. July 9th Gardening

**Day 9- Gardening: **Flowers and plants, gardening and greenhouses. Anything to do with a green thumb goes here; whether it's growing a garden, giving someone flowers, surveying wild plants, or anything of the sort.

* * *

><p>Again England called America, and again he received no answer. It seemed America had become so busy that he couldn't even have the decency to make any calls back to England whenever he left a message or saw he had a missed call. England would leave him e-mails as well, asking if he was okay and when he could visit next, but for well over a month now he had gotten nothing. At first England could understand given that he was busy too. However, he had some manners.<p>

So it came as a great surprise when America actually called back as soon as England had hung up. England fumbled for his phone he had just put away.

" 'ello?" he answered quickly. "America, where have you been? I've called you for weeks now! Have you no idea-"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm sorry," America interrupted. "Hey, um, do you think you could come and see me really soon? Like this week or something?"

England sighed. "Let me check my schedule."

He didn't have to, he memorized every day. Still he felt it was good to let America wait for his answer. He didn't want to sound too eager at coming by. Of course all the voice mails and constant calls for the past weeks didn't indicate as such. No, not at all.

"It looks to be rather manageable," England replied after a time. He had just shuffled some papers around on his desk without really looking at anything in particular. "I suppose I could come by…tomorrow."

"Perfect!" England could hear America's smile over the phone, and it made him want to smile too. "The weather will be great! Okay, I'll pick you up from the airport tomorrow. See ya!"

Without waiting for England to ask where he'd been or what he'd been up to, America hung up. Despite the fact England would be visiting soon he was rather let down. He wanted to talk if only for a moment longer. He had missed him.

To occupy his restless mind, England moved to his bedroom to pack. He decided to move extra slow so as to prolong the process. However long it took it wasn't enough. England wandered around the house, put on the kettle, and read some books.

Finally, with a huff, England called up his personal driver to the house. It was silly of him to leave early. He had had numerous times where he knew he was to leave to see another country for whatever reason. America should have been no different. _Should have_. Therein laid the key.

America was always different. Even back when travel was by sea, England had tried to hurry the process up to see him, fully knowing that he couldn't make the wind push his ship any faster. How he wished he could've parted the sea then. Now it was about the air, but that still was never quick enough.

Once England had reached the airport he phoned America. This time he answered on the second ring.

"Hey. What's up?"

Suddenly, England's throat was parched. He wasn't quite sure what to say now. No matter what it was, he would sound like a fool; coming to visit an entire day earlier. If that didn't sound desperate enough already, he was sure whatever he was about to say would sound worse.

"I…I decided to come…now."

America choked on the other end. "What, like right now?"

"Yes." England paused. He worried that perhaps America would be upset at the change of time. "Should I not have?"

"No, no! It's cool! I'll just head over to the airport sooner, that's all." America laughed. "Can't wait to see you."

Relief spread through England. He smiled into the phone, but tried to hide his enthusiasm. "Yes, you too."

* * *

><p>The flight was pleasant, as always. England took a nap on the way there, ensuring his nerves were calm enough. Quite frankly, he wanted to berate America for ignoring him. Remind him that as long as they were dating, America would have to try his hand at this communication thing once in awhile.<p>

However, once he touched down at the JFK International Airport and saw America, he was just happy to be there again. Nothing had changed, like always. America picked England up in a giant hug, swinging him around in a most undignified manner. England didn't mind. He laughed until he was put down where he lightly punched America for behaving like such a child.

They got in the car and headed off in the direction of America's rural home in the New York state. England was surprised; they almost always went to his swanky New York City pad. But he found he couldn't very well ask. America was acting odd.

He didn't mention any of the month of silence, nor asked how England had been during the time. If England began talking about himself, America would cut him off and say he read it in the newspaper. After thirty minutes, England just stopped talking all together and allowed the music to keep some noise between them. America, for once, didn't want to talk either.

Eventually they reached America's old Victorian style home. It was far from any prying eyes and snooty reporters. The driveway alone took ten minutes just to reach the house. Since England had come a day earlier, he had arrived in the morning. That meant they had all day together, rather than arrived in the afternoon and only spending the evening.

America suddenly jumped out of the car, rushing to England's side. He opened the door with a flourish. England blinked at him in surprise.

"Come with me."

England raised an eyebrow. "Where to?"

"You'll see." America held his hand out. "Come on. I have a surprise for you."

Butterflies gathered in England's stomach. He was too old for such a thing, but that never stopped him before. Or rather, it never stopped America before. That idiot always made him feel so delightfully young.

England took America's hand, ignoring the heat on his face. He followed America as he was led towards the backyard. They stopped short, and America turned with a devious smile.

"Close your eyes," he said. England frowned. "C'mon. It's part of the surprise."

"There aren't other people here, are there?" England asked.

"What? No." America laughed loudly. "No, this is just you and me. Hurry up an' close your eyes!"

Rolling his eyes, England did as he was told. He felt America's hands on his shoulders, leading him towards the back again. It might not seem like much to a human, but to a nation, it was one of the ultimate forms of trust. To let one country maneuver another was dangerous. He could be walking into a trap for all he knew.

That would never happen. America would never harm England, never again. He had given him his word. And England, in return, trusted him.

"Okay," America said, halting England. "Wait just a minute…"

His voice trailed off. He was moving away. England turned his head towards America's voice. "Now?"

"Just a secooooond. Okay… Now."

England opened his eyes. He gasped in surprise. The backyard was normally just a plain grassy plain with a few trees of different types littering the view. Now, it was overfilled with blues, purples, yellows, and reds. Flowers of all varieties popped out of the ground to bring life into the seemingly endless greenery. England's eyes weren't sure where to look first. He was overjoyed as he turned in circles, taking it all in.

"A-America… You did this?" he asked, breathless.

"Sure did! Took me all month!"

England turned to see America sheepishly looking down at the ground. Now he seemed to be the one with the butterflies.

"I-I took a page out of your book and tried my hand at gardening," America started. "I'm okay at it, but I don't like doing it that much. I remember you saying you thought it was too plain back here."

"Why would you do this?" England asked. "Surely not for that."

America rubbed his arm. "No. I…I thought that we could…do gardening together when you came over."

England was overcome with emotion. All he wanted to do was fling himself onto America, hug him around his neck and pepper his face with kisses. But that would be quite unbecoming of him. Instead, he merely pulled America's face to his so that their lips met. It was brief, but effective.

"You…idiot."

America grinned that cheeky grin. He kissed England's cheek. "But, that's not the best part."

"There's more?" England pulled away to stare at him, surprised. "What more did could you have possibly done?"

Rather than saying anything, America held up his index finger and cocked it towards a part of the yard further back. It was hidden by the side of the house. England moved over to see what exactly was better than the yard of flowers.

He stopped short. There were rows upon rows of bright, cherry apple red roses reaching for the sky. Some were ready to bloom; others had stretched far open, their faces smiling at the sun. England moved to the nearest one. He cradled its head in his hands. His lips twitched at a hint of a smile.

America strode up beside him. "You know, people always asked me why we share the same national flower. I told them, why not? It's a beautiful flower."

England looked to America. Suddenly, there was a rose held before his face. He was caught off guard, and took a step back. He was unused to such a romantic gesture from the other man. For a moment, he simply stared.

"This is…so unlike you," England whispered. "Did I forget an important date? I'm certain that I know when our anniversary is…"

"It's not that." America kissed England's cheek. "I just wanted to do something different with you. Keep the relationship fresh by sprucin' things up a bit."

England shook his head. He was no longer able to hide that smile. "You are definitely doing just that. So, can you tell me which plant hails from where?"

America looked just as lost as England expected him to be. "Uh… Well…I know tulips are from Holland? He lent me some. And there are some pure English roses in here too!"

"Is that all you know?" England asked, smiling up at him. He took the rose finally, and placed it in his breast pocket.

"Well, what more is there to know? I mean, aside from all my state flowers, which are totally not here because the states would get mad at me, I don't think any other is important."

England sighed. "Seems I still have much to teach you. Come on. You want to do this gardening thing right then you'll have to get a real English teaching."

America smiled. He took England's hand in his, interlacing their fingers. "I don't think I'll mind too much."

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: I wasn't sure about this prompt for awhile. It was a little out of my league, seeing as I have a color on the opposite end of the color spectrum for gardening. Totally not my thing. However, I thought a guy trying to impress his beloved by dabbing his feet into it would be sweet. So why not? Hope you enjoyed! Sorry it updated so late. I'm out of town again, but only for tonight.


	10. July 10th Period Piece

**Day 10- July 10th: **Period Piece. Love clothing and culture from the past? This is for you. The fanworks in this theme must either take place before 1935 (right before the dawn of WWII), or be a throwback to that time period (i.e. them attending a Victorian costume ball in modern times). AU is of course welcome here (as it is in any theme). You can use any era pre-1935, no matter how far back.

* * *

><p>Surprises were becoming a norm for England. He'd been having quite a month of them, from finding uniforms to seeing a beautiful backyard of roses. Today was proving not to be any different. He had been called down to America's basement. He scoffed at how disorganized it was, keeping his hands to himself as he maneuvered around the dusty antiques to where America was. America was rummaging through an old crate.<p>

He came up holding a small, off-white nightgown covered in stains. "Look! It's my baby clothes!"

England stopped his mouth agape. Blush filled his face. He had to look away as nostalgia overtook him. America laughed at his reaction.

"Oh God," England mumbled into his hands now covering his mouth. "I haven't seen that in years…"

"Look what else is in here!" America pulled up child's size colonial clothing. "I wore this when I was like eight in human years!"

Again, England had to look away. The blush had reached his ears. Just imagining America, young and fresh to the world, frolicking in the fields once more was enough to drive England crazy. His chest hurt at the memories.

America glanced over, seeing England fading out into the past. Then, an idea hit him. He smiled and rushed to England, grabbed him by his shoulders.

"We should go to Williamsburg!" he exclaimed.

"What?" England asked flatly.

In retrospect, England should have just declined from the start because a "what" only made it seem that he was quite okay with America taking him to the colonial town. England had heard of these preserved sites and made a mental note to never go there. It would be too painful. Still, America was ruthless, and dragged England along.

They arrived in the early morning, but somehow England didn't think he was experiencing morning sickness. His stomach was so tight he could hardly breathe. He glared at America who happily strode into the side of a more modern building. England closed his eyes to block out anything he might see, and followed him inside.

"Alfred!" a girl exclaimed. She was in colonial attire, a beautiful blue dress with her hair up in a bun. Beside where she stood was a table with a bonnet, probably to go on her head. It looked as if she wasn't completely in costume yet as she jumped up to hug America.

"Abigail!" America scooped her up into his arms as he laughed. England rolled his eyes. Of course her name was Abigail. "You look beautiful, as always. But there's something different."

The blonde held up a ring on her finger. "I got married."

"NO WAY!" America picked her up and hugged her again. He had completely forgotten England was standing by the front door, awkwardly waiting until he was introduced, or better yet, taken home.

The two chattered away as England inspected the room. He noticed there was a list of rules hanging up on one of the walls. It had specific instructions to the actors to always remain in character, no matter who approached them. If anyone was to have a problem, they were to be escorted away, preferably to into a house where no prying eyes could see them. Overall, the actors were to keep the atmosphere of the colonies at all times.

That wasn't too hard for England to imagine. He was already having flashbacks. Quickly he looked around for a bathroom or some other escape route.

"And this is my pal, Arthur," America proclaimed. He looped an arm around England and tugged him over to meet Abigail. "He's from England."

"Oh, how cruel of you," Abigail said with a chuckle. She held out her hand to shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Arthur. And welcome."

England took it, thankful for the distraction. No matter how nauseous he felt, he was a gentleman, first and foremost. "The pleasure is all mine. It's a lovely… outfit you're wearing."

Abigail looked down at her dress. "It tore yesterday. I was just fixing it up a little."

"Hey, do you think we could dress up too?" America asked suddenly.

England turned to snap at him, but Abigail was quicker. "Why sure! Let me get you both some outfits."

She turned to leave, but stopped. "Um, Arthur? Will you be wearing a colonist's attire or would you like that of English?"

England flushed. He almost wanted to say he would wear his old outfits from long past, but then he thought a moment. America _had_ been doing a lot for him lately. That lovely afternoon in the rose garden came to his mind. And there was that evening in their military uniforms. He supposed he would play along, if only for a little while.

"I believe I will be a colonist," he replied, smiling. Abigail nodded, and left.

"Whoa, switchin' sides are ya?" America smiled, his hand on England's back. "You gotta get rid of your accent."

"You know I can." England was already starting to hide it under a terrible Boston accent. "I just…have to remember a good Virginian accent."

"It's not that hard." Of course it wasn't. America had slipped into one easily. "It's your accent that I can't master."

"Yours and my brother's." England had been referring to Scotland's. "You always sound atrocious when you do."

America sneered at him. "Better than when you try to do my Southern drawl."

England turned to retaliate, but Abigail had returned. She directed them to some changing rooms where they went to undress. America was first out. He took off his glasses, apologizing to Texas, and slipped them into his breast pocket. A moment later, England appeared. Somehow, the outfit made him look even smaller and younger.

"Nice," America commented. He stopped, though.

All the color from England's face was draining and he was shaking. He almost looked ready to vomit. His mind had traveled to the last time he had seen America wearing these clothes. He started coughing, grabbing at the clothes that suddenly felt two sizes too small.

Rushing quickly to his side, America grabbed England's face. He lifted his face up so that England looked into his eyes. He remained firm, but gentle as he tried to soothe him.

"Hey, hey, look at me. It's okay. Calm down. I'm right here. It's not that time anymore, okay?"

England shook his head violently. He was gasping for air and failing. "I know where this house is. I know where we are. P-please. I want to leave."

"Hey, sh. No, it'll be okay." America squished England's cheeks so his lips pursed out like a fish's. "Look, you're a fish now. You can't be upset when you look like that."

England closed his eyes. "America…"

For that, America moved in and gave him a quick kiss on the cheeks. He moved to whisper in his ear. "Don't think about that day, okay? We're together now. That's all that matters. Remember, I love you."

America could feel England relaxing in his hands. He was still tense, but no longer on the verge of hyper-ventilating. Usually he was so good at keeping his emotions in check. Sometimes he would cough or grow misty-eyed at the thought of the Revolution, but it had never gotten that bad before. It was probably because they were so close to something still so meaningful.

"Time to make some new memories!" America exclaimed. He dragged England back out to Abigail.

She was now wearing her bonnet and seemed ready to depart. The men followed her outside. England had to take a moment again to catch his breathe. America lied, saying England had asthma.

The sight had stunned him. They were just near the George Wythe house; a building both knew all too well for different reasons: England for wanting to burn it, and America for spending the night with George Washington before the battle of Yorktown. England had wanted to turn and run, but America held him firm. Abigail was taking them on a grand tour. At first, America was dancing in his own mind. He recalled all the days he had spent at the various houses still standing after all these years and battles.

England was mute the majority of the trip. He preferred to keep his own view of history out. For all Abigail knew, she thought he and America were normal human beings. If she did know who America really was, she certainly had no idea about who England was. And he'd like to keep it that way.

"Hey Arthur, look! It's William Robertson's house! You remember him!" America had pointed to a cherry wood house with an old canon sitting on the lawn. Abigail gave America a curious look. "Uh…from history class!"

England nodded. "Yes, I remember him. He was a good chap. I mean, boy."

Abigail laughed nervously. "William Robertson?"

"The original owner of this house, before John Randolph purchased it from him," England quickly explained.

"I didn't know you knew that," Abigail said. She looked surprised.

"I studied in America Colonial History. It was one of my…strong suits, I guess you could say." England looked to America for help, but he seemed preoccupied in touching the side of the house.

America wasn't one to dwell on the past, not like England. But sometimes it came on rather strongly. He would honor it, treasure it, learn from it. It was something that he loved the most about himself was his past and he was always interested in reliving it. That was why he kept the houses here when he could have done away with them. Why he let his Southern states continue their reenactments of the Civil War, despite how painful it was to him.

And why he brought England with him to see it.

"Abigail, could you give us a minute?" America asked. After she had left, America turned to England. "Walk with me?"

England was surprised by how distant America's voice sounded. He was becoming something else these past few days. Still, he agreed and took a walk with him.

They said nothing as tourists and actors wandered by. In the distance, England could hear a fife and drum playing. He saw smoke rising from chimneys. Outside one of the houses, a lady was churning butter, waving at guests walking around. Aside from some of the modern apparel on the people, it almost did feel like colonial times. He had to hand it to the services keeping it up.

America stopped suddenly. He was looking at the old capital building. The red bricks looked fresh as the day they were first laid. The building towered over them, a morning shadow cast on the cobbled ground before themIt was where the idea of his Independence had first been raised, this state being the first to shout for it. America had spent many days, sometimes nights, in the building. And England knew it.

He had spent just as many days in them, trying to run down the declarations. But it was no matter. Americans, just like their country, were too stubborn for what they wanted. Nothing, not even an Empire, could stand in their way. Which is how England found himself standing in front of the same building, over two hundred years later, wearing attire from that era that was not of his own. Because America had wanted it.

America then reached over and took England's hand. He smiled at him, but not in his usual bright way. He pulled England closer, not caring if now they looked rather out of character. People were too busy taking photographs to notice them.

"I'm sorry. We can go home now if you want," America said. "I just thought it would be fun."

England paused. He wasn't sure why, but he found he wasn't as ill as he thought he'd be. Sure he saw flashbacks of a young, baby America dancing before him on the very streets they walked. And a few times he swore he saw ghosts from citizens past that died for both of their sakes. Still, America always was an exception.

"No. I don't mind if we stay awhile longer." He gave a small squeeze before moving away. "I rather enjoy this fresh air and these old buildings. It's right up my alley, you know?"

America laughed. He relaxed as he playfully skipped beside England. Without his glasses he seemed more so of a boy again. "Yeah? Well then let's go look at some more old buildings. And get that American accent back, boy. You're in Virginia, not London."

"Of course. Forgive me." England chuckled.

It might not have healed all the wounds, but England did feel more at ease now about being there. He could just focus on America and he was now, not how he was then. Granted, he'd probably slip into a forgetful mind about it, either that or deny anything close to him liking the fact America left. But then he'd remember that despite that, he didn't run away.

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: If you ever get the chance to go to Williamsburg or Jamestown, go. It's _AMAZING_! I loved Williamsburg 10 times more than Jamestown, but I still had tons of fun! Granted I was in the 8th grade and I can mainly remember the old ghost stories our tour guide told us to scare us. Still! It was awesome!


	11. July 11th Games

**July 11th- Day 11: **Games. This theme is for games of the non-sports variety (there is a sports theme later for that). Board games, little competitions, video games, bedroom games, childhood games, you name it. Of course they don't have to be playing the game. They can be talking about it, watching it, be analogized to it, etc.

* * *

><p>There was nothing quite like coming home from a long day at work and plopping down into the computer chair to play some video games. It was something America looked forward to almost every day, or more like when he wasn't so exhausted that he didn't fall face first into the bed to pass out immediately. Most of the time America would pop in any game. He was fast to finish them within two to three days, sometimes even twenty-four hours.<p>

It had been so long since he had found a really good game to play. He used to get the down-low on any game from Japan before it came out, but the Asian nation had been silent as of late.

One day, America approached Japan after a meeting and asked about a new game. Japan looked confused for a moment. He tilted his head.

"Didn't you get Gamerz Mind?" he asked. America shook his head. "Oh! I'm so terribly sorry! I was sure I gave it to you. It's a new MMORPG."

America's eyes lit up, and he but jumped Japan for the game. "REALLY! Lemme play! I want to play it!"

Japan, used to America's outbursts, nodded. He turned to dig it out from his briefcase. America didn't question why he happened to have it in there. Stranger things have come out of the bag anyways. Japan handed the game over, briefly explaining what it was about.

"You're stuck in someone paranoid mind. It's been damaged by an outside incident. You and others online are to try and fix it. There are currently five classes, but the programmers have been thinking up more."

"Sweet! I want to be a Hero class!" America exclaimed.

Japan frowned slightly. "There…is no Hero class, Mr. America."

"Seriously?" America glanced at the box once again. "Ah well. I'll still have fun! Thanks dude! I was waiting for a new game!"

"I apologize. I really did think I had told you." Japan turned to leave, but paused to look back at America. "By the way, I'm under Nihon."

America frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. "Just Nihon? Dude, that's the same screen name you have in EVERY MMORPG!"

"Yes, it keeps it simple." Japan then left with a smile.

America rushed back home to install the new game to his computer. He ordered pizza while the last of it finished. Once done, he entered all the information needed, designed his character, and entered in his name. He made sure that his character was a big, tough looking blonde with a snazzy outfit- or as snazzy as one could get in these rather bright outfits the company had made. America had decided his name would be Hero235.

"Yeah," America said, satisfied. He sat back in his chair. "Let's get started."

Three hours later and America was already at level twenty. He felt rather proud. He slipped down to the younger ranks, remembering a time when he was level five, and helped the other players out. All were grateful to him, especially since he would stand aside so that the other players got the experience points.

"All right, Hero, let's go on up to the higher ranks. See if we can mess around up there with the twenty-fives." America navigated through the light red tunnels of the world, reminiscent of a brain, until he found the door to levels twenty-five through thirty. "A good boss kill would be perfect for an EXP boost."

With confidence, America stepped through. The world was different compared to the first and second levels. This one was more about the desert. Pillars of sand and rock, much like those in Utah, towered overhead. America had no idea how this connected to a brain, but he went with it anyways. It was pretty, and teaming with new monsters to destroy.

He set off looking for a particularly strong boss. Most of the enemies were of mediocre threat. America passed them by, diving deeper into the world. He stopped when he saw a boss battle break out before him.

The creature was easily twice the character's size. It had three arms, all reaching for the character that America mistook for a girl. The character was a Knight class, wearing the armor and the helmet that came with the standard issue of the basic design. However, the character moved fluidly around the beast. It dodged any blow, sending low-level spells the creature's way.

America smiled, thinking that perhaps he should intervene. The player was obviously no match for the beast. But then, the character pulled outs it sword and jumped high in the air. America wasn't sure how because he couldn't get the camera to move fast enough, but he saw the creature's health drop drastically. It fell to its knees and disappeared like all villains did. Then, the knight dropped to the ground, unharmed.

America was impressed. He trotted over to see the player. Its name was set to private, meaning he had to ask the player for their information. He also noticed the player had set their settings to "no microphone". So America typed his response.

Hero 235 said :That was incredible!:

The player turned to look at America. Their face was hidden, as were all knights. Usually a knight belonged to a guild, but this knight didn't. Or maybe he had that hidden as well. It was an option.

Hero235 said :What's your name?:

The player didn't respond. America frowned.

Hero235 said :What's wrong? Are you AFK?:

The player simply turned and walked away. America started. "H-hey!"

He moved his character to follow, but the player only took it for so long. They teleported to a different area; a move only higher level players can achieve. America pouted, sitting back in his chair.

"What an ass. I just wanted to praise him and shit." America rocked in his chair for a bit. He was used to jerks online. Hell, he played with Prussia from time to time. Briefly he wondered if that was him.

A little symbol down at the bottom of the webpage indicated that he had gotten a PM. America clicked it, wondering if it was that other player. It was Japan instead. Nevertheless, America replied to him.

They met up in the same level near the entrance. Japan's character, Nihon, was a special class. To get that class, you were to be given a special code that allowed for any alteration of your appearance of any kind, regardless of what class you actually chose to be. America rolled his eyes at seeing that Japan had chosen a cat girl physique.

Hero 235 said :You would!:

Nihon said :I am quite fond of this. Is there a problem?:

Hero235 said :Why no mic?:

Nihon said :I believe it's for the best for all countries to hide their identity and their voice. Perhaps you should hide your name as well?:

Hero 235 said :As if anyone is gonna know it's me!:

Nihon said :If you think so.:

Hero235 said :Know where there are some good enemies to defeat?:

Nihon said :Yes. Follow me.:

The two players embarked. Along the way, America received a PM from an anonymous source. He opened it up, thinking it might be an admirer.

:Please, don't talk to me again.:

America's player stopped. Nihon had been running in front of him, but he paused as well. He turned around to look at America.

Nihon said :Hero? Is something wrong?:

America was stunned. Who could have possibly sent him this message? He hadn't gone out of his way to talk to anyone in general; just a few "You're welcomes" and the like. Either way, it didn't warrant someone to anonymously e-mail him about not talking to him. How was he to know just who it was he had bothered? Couldn't they tell it to his face?

Hero235 said :Oh, nothing. Just got a PM and was reading it. How do you reply to anons?:

Nihon said :You don't. It's designed so that you can't.:

Hero235 said :Lame. Well, whatever. Let's just go!:

Three hours and a stiff neck later, America was ready to sign off. Japan had just departed, saying it was time for him to sleep as well. But just as America was about to press the log-off button, he caught sight of the knight from before. He knew it was the same one as it saw him too, and fled the opposite direction.

Hero 235 said :Hey! Wait up!:

This time, the knight stopped. It shot a warning blast at America.

Hero235 said :Dude! What the hell? I just wanted to say hi!:

? said :I told you not to talk to me.:

America blinked. He smiled as he leaned forward in his chair. Somehow, knowing who sent him the e-mail was more of a relief than caring about the contents of it.

Hero235 said :Oh, so it was you? How the hell was I to know? You should've just told me your name.:

The knight didn't reply. America thought that he was going to log-off in a minute. It wouldn't surprise him. The guy was unpredictable, except for the fact that he liked to run away from people that were nice to him.

? said :You have a point. Well I am telling you now to please not talk to me anymore.:

Hero235 said :Why? I didn't do anything. It's not like I was mean to you or said or did anything cruel. Can't I just say hi? I think you're a good player, that's all.:

For some reason, America thought that the player was probably scoffing on the other end. He wasn't sure why. The player gave no indication he had, given that their player's actions were limited to just run, walk, jump, and fight. There was an amusing option to dance, but the knight didn't look like it would dance any time soon.

? said :Well thank you.:

Hero235 said :You're welcome. What level are you?:

? said :85.:

America nearly dropped the controller. For all he knew, the game wasn't that old. It had to have taken a player a good two or three months to get to level fifty, but to get to level eight-five in a little under a month was impossible. Even Japan's character wasn't that high a level, and he was a co-creator, like almost all of his video games.

Hero235 said :No way. That's impossible.:

? said :Obviously it isn't.:

Hero235 said :I don't believe you. Show me your stats.:

? said :I do not know you. I will not reveal that.:

Hero235 said :Well, all right. I was hoping we could be friends.:

? said :I don't live in the same country as you.:

Hero235 said :How can you tell?:

? said :Your screen name reminds me of someone I know that lives in America.:

America smiled. He leaned forward, his interest piqued.

Hero235 said :And you remind me of someone from England. Are you?:

? said :Spot on.:

Mentally, America was proud of himself. He wasn't sure why, but it was exciting to know someone was talking to him from England. He talked to the countries for crying out loud; why was this so amazing? He wasn't exactly sure and wasn't one to over analyze things.

Hero235 said :I didn't think you Britts were good at games.:

? said :I'll have you know that most older gents are serious gamers. We also spend more money on games than we do films or music. I've played Call of Duty before and enjoy other sites like WoW. Something like 20 million of us "Britts" play online games.:

Hero235 said :Whoa, you play those too? We should play! I'm killer at Call of Duty.:

? said :I bet. Yes, I think you and my mate would get along just fine.:

Hero235 said :Well he's probably sleeping. Which I'm gonna go and do. Here, take my info. We can chat some time later.:

America pressed for his information to be sent over the PM. It was amazing that only a short while ago, the knight had berated him for even trying to compliment him, and now he had his information. They had chatted for far longer than either intended. Still, it was nice to know that the player didn't seem as defensive as before.

* * *

><p>The next couple of days went much better with the mysterious knight player. There was still no exchanging of information, the British player having America's stats. At one point, America received a PM from the knight player asking to meet him at the level thirty to thirty-five area. It was there that the knight player explained that he would help America raise his levels.<p>

"Really?" America exclaimed. He forgot there was no microphone ability.

Hero235 said :Awesome! Thanks so much! Should we make a group?:

? said :I think that would be best, yes.:

Hero235 said :I'll need your information then.:

? said :And you shall have it. Check your inbox.:

America frantically pulled it up. His heart pounded with putting a name to his online friend. It was exciting. He didn't even care if the player was even eight years old; the fact is, this guy was a good player and a really nice guy. America clicked open the unread e-mail.

America stopped. The player's stats read that he was twenty-three, lived in London, and that his real name was left a secret. America had left his name a blank too, something of which he did for every game he played online. HE always put down that he lived in Washington D.C., even if he was currently nowhere near the capital.

Then, America saw the character's name.

Hero235 said :Your name is Britannia?:

Britannia said :Is there something wrong with that name? It's a rather powerful one.:

America was laughing. He shook his head, amazed that a human was making him so happy. A human that wasn't his own.

Hero235 said :You're cute.:

Britannia seemed caught off guard as he didn't reply to America's comment. A short time later he made the group, "Anglo-alliance" and they set off to fight monsters until the wee hours of the night. Whenever America commented on Britannia getting some sleep, he waved it off. He was quite fine with staying up later, claiming he had homework he was doing as well.

Hero235 said :Do you have two computers or something? How could you be doing this and playing a game?:

Britannia said :I have two screens, actually. I have my work on the other screen.:

Hero235 said :Man, my friend in England isn't as tech-savvy as you. What college do you go to?:

Britannia said :A good one.:

One day, America received word from his boss that he was to travel to England for a meeting. America was sad that he wouldn't get the chance to play his game for the night, wondering if Britannia would be upset that he wasn't on. Then, an idea struck him. During lunch he raced home so that he could quickly sign on. Of course, Britannia wasn't online. It was rather late in the evening in England. Still, America typed up a quick letter that he would check before he left that night.

:Hey Britannia! I'm gonna be taking a trip to England! Did I tell you I worked for the American government? Well I do and they want me to head over there for the weekend. Do you think we can meet up? I'll be at the American embassy at noon on Sunday if you wanna meet! I'm a blonde, almost seven feet, and I have glasses. I'll see you there, hopefully!:

That night, America checked his e-mails. The message was strange and short.

:I think I know who you are. I'll be there.:

* * *

><p>Sunday, America was standing outside the embassy as he said. He forgot to write Britannia back and ask what he looked like. He was so busy, gathering his things to get to his plane on time that he forgot all about it. Now, he was anxious that Britannia was watching from afar and had decided to walk away. Maybe he thought that he was too intimidating, too ugly, or too… something. America never met his online friends, but he couldn't give up the chance to meet Britannia.<p>

He secretly wanted to play Call of Duty with him.

A tap on his shoulder had America turned quickly. He smiled when he saw England standing there.

"Hey!" America greeted. "What're you doing here?"

"I knew it," England said. He had a secretive smile on his lips. "So you don't think us Britts can hold our own in the gaming world?"

America's mouth fell agape. "It was _you_? You're Britannia?"

England crossed his arms smugly. "I sure am. I knew it was you all along."

"H-how?" America gawked.

"Please. Hero235?"

America rubbed the back of his head. "What? That could be a random number or something."

"That's your _age_, you git." But England was laughing.

America fought back his blush and smiled. He was rather glad that it was England that he met; despite the fact he really did believe it was a human. He wasn't sure why-again, he wasn't one to over analyze things. But every time he and Britannia had talked it was always so natural. Like when he and England talked. Of course, America would never admit to that. He and England were just friends.

It was America who held these one-sided crushes.

"Why didn't you tell me?" America asked. "That you play games so much. I mean, do you really have two screens?"

"Three, sometimes," England replied. He shrugged. "I just never saw a reason to tell you."

"Can you fix your computers if they break too?" America asked.

At this, England looked away with a slight blush. "N-no… I call Japan and ask him for his help."

"I can help too you know!" America exclaimed a little too loudly. He felt a little protective of England, but again, would never admit as such. "You can call me."

"I just thought you would laugh if you knew how much games I play," England mumbled. He was looking at his feet. "I thought you'd call me a geek or whatever term you use."

"Well, Japan and I play all the time so…" America smiled, putting his hand on England's shoulder. "Tell you what, next time Japan, Canada, and I have a LAN party, you can join us, okay?"

England smiled, that rare true smile. It made America's stomach do a flip and his heart caught in his chest. "I'd like that."

"But no lame names like Britannia."

"Then nothing stupid like Hero235."

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: Inspired by Angel-Shin on Livejournal for giving me this adorable idea based on logistics about UK gamers. It was interesting and I thought the idea was too great to pass up for today's prompt. Hope you all enjoyed it!


	12. July 14th Theater

**Day 14- July 14th:** Theater. Whether musicals or plays, Shakespeare or Sondheim, this theme is all about the theater. It could be performing a musical, seeing a Broadway/West End production, reading a play, cast in a crossover as characters from a musical/play, paralleling something to theater, etc.

* * *

><p>England had received many letters from America while they were apart, but this had to be the most intriguing one. The young colony was always so overzealous in writing since he learned to write recently that England found himself overwhelmed by the sheer amount of letters. This time it was short and to the point. In America's scrawl that England guessed was his best handwriting, America had simply said, "Come back."<p>

At first England thought it quite cute. It almost looked as if America had been too excited to say anything more. But upon thinking about it longer he began to worry. What if there was something wrong. What if America wrote that while in a hurry, and that was all he could get out before being captured. Or worse, hurt.

England assembled his crew, setting out first thing the next morning. Upon landing at the New World he rushed to America's house. It was still sitting there, but there had been no citizens in the little town. He worried there had been an attack. However, it was strange to see that not one building was untouched.

Halfway through the town England heard his name called. It was by a tiny voice that popped out from the bushes. England stopped upon seeing America emerge unharmed. He scooped the child up in his arms with a loud sigh of relief.

"You're all right!"

America giggled. "Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?"

England looked around, expecting the humans to appear at any given moment. "Where are the people?"

America squirmed out of England's hold, landing on the ground with an "oof!" He turned and grabbed England's hand. "This way! Come on, Engwand! I have a surprise for you!"

The two walked only a short distance before coming upon a stage. It was rather shoddy with a curtain hanging limply in front of what England supposed was the stage. The stage itself was just a plank of wood on the forest ground. In front of it were wooden kitchen chairs. England's men were being shown to sit in the chairs. At the front was one chair that had a little piece of paper sitting on it.

"For Engwand."

A small smiley face was crudely drawn next to the words and what looked like a scribble of a rabbit. England took the paper, smiling slightly. He sat down. Out of habit he pat his leg, expecting America to climb up and sit on his lap. But America shook his head.

"Not today!" America chirped. He held a finger to his lips. "Shh! The show's about to start!"

America shuffled off with the rest of the people. England crossed his arms, smirking as he watched the performance begin.

It was an amusing retelling of A Midsummer Night's Dream, with certain parts taken out as America, who was perceived by the citizens as a child, and the other children were all a part of the play. Once the fairies were to appear, America and the other children shuffled out in homemade outfits. A giant sunflower-like flower cloth had been wrapped around America's head, but it was flopping over from the weight of the cloth. His little fairy wings were almost as big as he was, but they looked bent. America had probably stepped on them or dragged them around, rather than holding them in his arms.

England snorted. He put a hand over his mouth as he silently laughed to himself. The children began to sing, America slightly out of tune. It was obvious he was distracted. He kept glancing out to see if England was watching. Whenever he caught his eyes, America would look away with a furious blush, singing louder and with a wide smile.

Finally, America said his one line, "Hence, away! Now all is well: One aloof stand sentinel."

Then America and the children left. America was last to leave the stage. He kept looking back to look at England. Finally, he stopped, turned, and waved at England. The people in the crowd chuckled as England waved back. He was laughing harder now.

The play came to a close a short while later. England and his crew applauded the colonists as they came out and gave their short bow. America dipped so low that his hat fell off his heat. He scrambled to put it back on as the people laughed. The curtain fell on them once more. While America was away, England slipped the small piece of paper that had been his seat reservation into his inner pocket.

A moment later, America emerged from behind the curtain. He flung himself at England. England bent down to America's level, welcoming him into his arms. He continued to laugh at America's enthusiasm.

"How was it! Did you like it? DID YOU SEE ME!" America rambled.

England nodded. "I loved it. You were very good, and yes I saw you. You made an adorable fairy. Just like the ones I've seen."

"You've seen fairies?" America asked. When England nodded, America laughed. "Engwand, it's all just a play. We're not real fairies."

"You're small enough to be one." England stood, holding America to his chest. "How long have you been planning this?"

"Since you left. I wanted to surprise you."

A long, tender smile spread across England's face. He nuzzled his nose into America's, giving him a short kiss on the cheek. "Well I am pleasantly surprised."

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: First, I am truly sorry that I dropped off the face of the Earth with my daily updates. I had to go to the hospital because of a heart condition I have and it drained a lot out of me. I had a few stories in mind that I had wanted to share with everyone, but I just couldn't physically do it.

I will be resuming my updates now. Also, I realized as I finished this that day 14 was _yesterday_. So this doesn't count for anything. Oh well. I wanted to do it. You'll be getting a double dose of me. Expect today's update sometime later today. TWO UPDATES IN ONE DAY? BLASPHEMY!


	13. July 15th Hiking

**Day 15- July 15th:** Hiking/Camping. Anything involving traversing the great outdoors hiking and camping style! You can mix up the hiking a bit and include climbing, spelunking, etc. Whether they're cooking out at a campground, or climbing a mountain trail, it's all welcome.

* * *

><p>"Let's go hiking!"<p>

Seemed harmless enough, especially when said by Alice's best friend, Amelia. So of course Alice agreed. Only upon arriving at Amelia's house in the morning of their hike, the girl had changed her tune. She still wanted to go hiking, only now she had called it "Extreme hiking".

"Amelia," Alice started with a sigh. "Why? What would be the point of this so-called 'extreme hiking'? You know we're both just city girls."

The girl turned with a wave of her hand, her hair bobbing on her shoulders. She was wearing little, to no clothes. This wasn't something new, especially in the summer when Amelia was more likely to walk around with just her bikini on rather than actual clothes. Alice was always slightly jealous that Amelia had that kind of self-confidence to present her body as well as she did. Then again, she had a body that looked good enough to show off.

"Just gonna go to the top of this hill, that's all!" Amelia, chipper as ever, loaded up the Jeep with the day's lunch. "Let's get going. We're losing daylight."

"It's not even eleven, Amelia." Still, Alice got in the Jeep. She smiled as Amelia slid in next to her.

The girls drove with the top open along the road that curved through the mountains. Amelia insisted on blasting music from the 80s, and whenever Alice protested, Amelia would immediately change to a country song to get back at her. Alice was having more of a challenge with her long hair. She tried putting it up into pigtails, but her blonde hair began to tangle up. Eventually she settled on a simple ponytail. She cursed the fact that it made her look unappealing. Then again, she never did feel as if she were on the same level of Amelia.

Upon reaching their destination, Alice's jaw fell open. "Amelia."

"Yeah?" The girl had hopped out of the Jeep. She paused to look over at Alice.

"This is not a hill."

The "hill" was indeed more like a small mountain. It had to be a good three or four miles high. It would take them hours to get even close to the top. And then there was the fact that the path didn't look exactly hiker friendly. At least not for Alice.

"Well, it's not a huge mountain. I thought I'd ease you into extreme hiking." Amelia offered a smile over at Alice as a way of soothing her. "It's not so bad. We'll get to the top before you know."

Before Alice knew it, she was dying of thirst and heat. For the fourth time in the past two hours, she had asked for Amelia to stop. The other girl had been trudging alone like she owned the place, while Alice strayed in the back. Amelia was patient enough in that she didn't voice her impatience. Instead she tapped her foot or jogged in place, watching and waiting for Alice to finish her break.

"You should drink some," Alice said, wiping her forehead. "You haven't had nearly enough for this hot of a day."

Amelia shrugged. "I guess." She paused for a moment, looking off into the distance. "Hey…when we get to the top, I wanna tell you something."

"Can't you tell me now?"

"No. It has to be at the top." Amelia turned, starting to walk again. "That's why we have to go now-WHOA!"

Alice bolted up. She lunged for Amelia as the girl slipped. Amelia had begun sliding down the side of a cliff, but thanks to Alice she was saved from a terrible fall. Alice held both of Amelia's arms, her heels digging into the ground. She grunted as she tried to pull Amelia back, but her hands were slipping. Amelia slowly began to walk back up the cliff. At the same time, Alice just yanked her up towards her arms.

They collided, chests bumping each other and heads knocking together. Both yelped out in pain, but paused when they noticed how close they were. Alice felt her heart begin to thump hard. She had always tried to ignore the fact she was heavily attracted to Amelia, but it was hard. Especially since the two were always together and Amelia was everything Alice wanted to be. Pretty, confident, popular. What Amelia saw in her as a friend, she'd never know. But then she didn't like to over analyze things.

"You should be more careful," Alice scolded. They released each other.

"Yeah, sorry." Amelia coughed as she collected herself. "We should, um, get going. This place is a little dangerous."

Alice didn't protest. They began hiking, this time Amelia stayed a little closer to the wall. The two were much quieter since their almost emergency. Alice wondered if it was because Amelia was still a little shaken up about it. She, on the other hand, was only thinking of how close their bodies had come when she pulled Amelia back up into her arms.

It wasn't the first time such an incident had happened. Their friendship was so close that once while Alice was on the toilet, Amelia burst in because she needed to change her clothes. Alice tried to give her a bit of privacy, but she couldn't help the fact she looked over a few times. Amelia had a wonderfully curvaceous body, and possibly the softest looking butt in all existence.

Remembering such a thing made Amelia flush. She reached for her metal canteen that had been hooked around her belt loop, only to find that it wasn't there. She stopped, and searched all around her body.

"Oh no!"

Amelia paused. "What's wrong?"

"My canteen! It's gone!" Alice sighed, running a hand over her sweaty forehead. Oh yes, she was exuding sexy today. "It must have fallen off back when you almost fell off the cliff."

Amelia sighed. "I guess we can just stop here."

"No, no." Alice turned with a sad expression. She was constantly holding up Amelia today. And if she wanted to say something at the top, then by golly they were getting to the top. "I can go on. Just give me some of yours."

Amelia handed it over. Their fingers brushed for a moment, but Alice ignored it. She drank as quickly as she could, then they resumed their hike. It took at least another hour to finally reach the top. Once there, Alice flopped herself down on the ground, her arms spread eagle around her. Amelia, however, had skipped over to the edge.

"Alice!" she called. "C'mere! You gotta see this view!"

With a groan, Alice heaved herself back up. She could feel her thighs and arms already starting to burn. It was agonizing just thinking about the fact she still had to go back down the hill. Pushing that aside she came up next to Amelia. It certainly was a brilliant view.

Greenery spread for miles with spots of brown or yellow here and there. Other hills, some larger, some smaller, weaved in and out like a quilt. In the distance was the faint blue from a nearby lake. Only the rustling of the wind caressed their ears. It was as if they were the only two human beings left on the planet.

Suddenly, Amelia took Alice's hand in hers. Alice gasped, but didn't pull it away. Her hand felt warm. And for that brief moment, everything was perfect.

"Alice," Amelia started. Her voice was unusually soft. "I wanted to tell you something."

"Oh? Yes, what is it?" Alice was surprised that her own voice came out so smoothly, despite the fact her heart was lodged in her ear. She couldn't think straight. Everything was shaping up to be something romantic; something she didn't think would ever transpire between her and her best friend.

"Um… I… I love you." Alice looked to her feet. Her face was alight with blush. "I've been in love with you since the sixth grade. I just… Well… I mean, if you don't love me th-then that's okay. But can we stay friends?"

"I don't want to be friends," Alice said sternly.

Amelia's face fell. She retracted her hand slowly. "Oh…That's okay then… I'm glad we got to have this last day together."

"I want to be your girlfriend," Alice said. She moved to cup Amelia's face, smiling at her. "You don't know how long I've waited to hear you say that."

Amelia breathed a laugh. Then, she grabbed Alice around the waist in a hug, lifted her up, and laughed much louder. She spun Alice around for a moment, just laughing. Once done, she promptly put Alice back on the ground.

"But why me?" Alice had to ask. She hated that she was really going to question Amelia's feelings, but she couldn't help it. It was all too perfect, too romantic, too unlike them.

Amelia shrugged. "I could ask the same thing about you with me, but I won't. Because no matter how I'd explain it, it would only make sense to me. So let's just go with it, okay?"

She didn't wait for Alice to reply before kissing her. She cupped her hands behind Alice's ears. Alice closed her eyes, reaching out to grasp at Amelia's soft locks. It wasn't brief, but it wasn't passionate. Neither girl had really kissed another girl, so they weren't sure how things worked. Not yet.

As they headed back down the trail a little while later, they held hands. Amelia was practically skipping as she bounced along. Alice found that the trek down was much better this time around. And on the ride home, Alice didn't object to a single stupid 80s love song on the radio. If she could carry a tune she'd have joined in. Instead she sat back as she heard her girlfriend sing instead.

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: Yeah… It was getting late and I needed to end this somehow. Sorry, it's a rather quick ending and such. Anyways, my first fully Nyotalia AU! How exciting! I must say it's a little more difficult doing a lesbian relationship, despite the fact I'm bisexual and have dated a few girls. Huh, I wonder why that is. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed!


	14. July 16th Nighttime

**Day 16- July 16th:** Nighttime. Lights out! Anything is welcome, as long as it takes place at night and is at least somewhat relevant to it being as such. Whether they're out looking at the stars or inside the house, it's welcome.

* * *

><p>Therapeutic things can come in many shapes and forms. It could be the night sky twinkling above one's head. Or it could be creaking from the mast mixed with the light ripples from the still ocean to make soft music. For the captain of the ship, it was all of these combined. He stood at the helm, watching as a few crew members that were still awake trudge around the ship. His eyes focused upon the endless void before him. His name was a pseudo one of Arthur, allowing him to bypass the trouble of explaining why he was really called England.<p>

Then again, most humans couldn't comprehend England's existence. As it was, only England's royal family knew of his true nature; that and one crew member aboard the ship. At first, England was against having the other join him, but he had made such a fuss that England felt he had no choice but to bring the whiny colony along on the long voyage.

America wasn't used to being alone, not since England had come into the position of being America's caretaker. Of course England wasn't really America's caretaker, but some days he certainly felt like it. That wasn't to say he didn't care for his new charge, it was just tiring when America went out of his way to fiddle with everyone once on the ship.

England had his hands full controlling the curious boy, not trusting a single one of his men to handle America. Lord knows what they'd do. Possibly throw him overboard. Or worse. England shuddered at the thought of those hands touching his precious colony.

However, as night fell America had fallen asleep soon enough. England found his moment of peace. Under the blanket of the stars and moon, England let his head clear.

"Engwand?"

Said man turned sharply. He spotted a sleepy America at the top of the stairs, rubbing his eyes and losing a battle to fight back a yawn. England willed back the desire to roll his eyes and scold America for being awake. Instead, he quickly closed the distance between them and plucked America up.

"Go back to sleep," he said with forced patience.

"I can't," America whined. He clung to England with a sniffle. "It's too big by myself."

England sighed. "I won't have you sleeping with the rest of the crew. My quarters are safe enough."

America shook his head. "I can't sleep without you. I'm scared."

"Why?"

"Ghosts…," America whispered. He shivered after furiously looking around. He buried his face into England's pirate coat, gripping at the gold trim.

England laughed. The remaining crew members looked over curiously. It was unlike their captain to laugh. Then again, he had been acting odder than normal. He wasn't one to run after a young boy, keeping him close at all times, and scolding him like a father would a son. It was almost human of him, given that many crew mates murmured that perhaps he wasn't one, the way he was always so stiff.

England caught their stares and instead collected himself. America, however, pouted at England's reaction. He looked up, ready to start crying, but stopped short. His eyes grew as his mouth fell agape.

"Whoa… The stars are all different!"

England looked up as well. "Well yes, my boy. We are far from your home now. The constellations have all moved."

"I can't read these," America said with a frown.

"I'm not surprised. Did you teach yourself to read the stars?"

"Yup!" America sounded so proud of himself.

England smiled, somehow proud of him too. He sat America on the wooden wheels and placed his pirate hat atop his small head. He then pointed to the sky.

"Now, no matter where I am at sea, if I see that star there, I can find my way." England had pointed to the brightest star in the sky. "That's the North Star. If you find that then you can find any other constellation. It's a good starting point."

America looked at England in awe. "Engwand, you're so smart!"

England flushed. He pat America on the head, always grateful for these ego-boosting compliments. "Arthur. It's Arthur, remember?"

"Oh right! And I'm Alfwed!"

England patted America again. "Yes you are."

"You named me!" America chirped. "Why did you pick that name?"

For a moment England said nothing. He smiled at the stars, but America could tell it wasn't his usual smile. In the short span that they had been together America could already read England's moods by his smiles. Most of the times his smiles were patient and warm, drawing America to him. Sometimes they were calculating or stern, usually when he was leaving the New World, or when he received distressing news from his home. But this was a new smile. It was one America couldn't read.

"Arthur?" America asked. He grabbed his sleeve. For some reason, he felt that England might leave; vanish into the darkness and into that nostalgic smile.

England returned his attention back to America. "Do you see that star off yonder?"

"Yes. The bright one?"

"That belongs to the constellation Alfred. It was named after one of my greatest kings. I remember him very well."

America frowned, scrunching up his baby face. "But I thought you said King Arthur was the greatest."

"He's the greatest of legends, but Alfred was my greatest king I can recall vividly. I can remember him holding me and patting me on the head, like I do with you. I can't with Arthur so much. Just flashes here and there. Sometimes I'm not sure if it's a memory or something I put in there because there are so many stories."

"What was he like?"

"As kind as you are," England replied. "Also just as strong."

"Did he look like me?" America raised his chin and put his fists against his hips, a wide grin across his face.

England took America's chin. He turned it from side to side, pondering. "Not quite. But when you grow up you might get a strong chin like he did."

America giggled, his cheeks blooming red. "Haha! No way! I want to always have a baby face! You like that I have this fat face, don't you?"

"W-what makes you say that?" England stuttered. "I am a pirate! Nothing can tame my heart!"

"Nothing but me!" America flung himself from the wheel, grabbing England around the neck in a hug. "You love me, don't you?"

England laughed. He supported America against his chest, arms wrapping around him in a return hug. "Yes, love. You and only you."

"I want my own star!" America exclaimed suddenly. He crawled up to sit on England's shoulder. The oversized hat on his head drooped down into his eyes. Still, he tried to look up at the sky as best he could. "Do you have one?"

"Ah, well, legend has it that I share St. George's. But no, I don't have my own star."

"Then, let's name our own! Which one doesn't have a name?"

"Pretty much all the stars have names." England looked around. "We'll have a look later. For now, it is past your bedtime. Off to bed with you."

"Aww!" America whined. He tugged on England's clothes again, but England took his hat back. He put him back down on the ground.

"Do not whine. Off to bed with you."

America eventually scampered off to England's quarters. England returned to watching the skies. He briefly wondered what star he could name as his own, or as America's. A faint smile touched his lips at the thought of a star that could always remind him of America. One that could guide him across the oceans. Or offer him comfort when alone on long nights.

One star, though, just wouldn't be enough. England would have to take his time and think of the perfect star.

But as the years wore on, he found that it wasn't just one star that did the trick. It was any and all. They all reached out a hand for him, like America did upon his arrival back at the New World. All of them twinkled as brightly as America's smile. And every single one wrapped England in a familiar, calming hug. One that he was never used to before; before he met America. Now it was one he could live without.

Just like the stars, and America.

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: Okay, I know for a fact there is no constellation for King Alfred or a star for St. George. However, let's just humor the idea that there is. I'm actually rather fond of this piece because when I went camping a few weeks back, the idea for this prompt came to me while under the stars. Plus, my name means "star child", so there ya go! STARS ALL AROUND!


	15. July 21st Road Trip

**Day 21- July 21st:** Road trip. Taking to the road together! Note that this does NOT need to be in a car. They can be taking a boat trip, riding horses, on a quest, etc. Just as long as the idea of a roadtrip (a fairly lengthy trip to reach a destination, or to stop at destinations along the way), is there.

* * *

><p>"What speed are you going?" England asked. He leaned over in his seat to look at the speedometer. "America, you know that the speed is-"<p>

"Yeah, I know exactly what speed it is, thanks England." America was terse. He gripped the steering wheel.

England sat back in his seat with a shrug. "Just wondering."

"I'd love to go the actual speed limit, but we can't." America waved his hand at the two motor homes chugging along in front of him. "But, as you can see, we have two giant fucking houses in front of us. God, I hate going slow…"

England chuckled. "Just wait. There's no section for them to pull over just yet."

"DON'T SLAM ON YOUR BRAKES!" America shouted. He groaned as the motor homes did just that. He slammed on his own, and turned the car at a painfully slow pace around the bend. "Oh my God, it's gonna take us days to get to the campsite."

"Patience," England mused. He reached over and turned on the radio. "Perhaps some music will do you some good."

America muttered something under his breath that sounded along the lines of "doubt it", but England paid him no mind. Instead, he pressed the buttons until he found a station that carried only music from the 80s. England could see America visibly relax back into his seat. He smiled to himself as he moved his hand to grab one of America's.

He pulled it from the steering wheel and over to rest on the gear shift between them. America's hands were tight, just like the rest of his body. England intertwined their fingers. After a moment, he felt America begin to loosen up.

"Hey, I love this song!" he exclaimed suddenly. "We gonna walk down to electric avenue! And then we take it higher!"

England laughed. "What a beautiful singing voice, love."

"You know you love it," America laughed. He was dancing in his seat as he winked over at England. "Come on! Sing with me, Arthur!"

To pull out the human name meant he was in a much better name. England smiled wide enough to show teeth. He turned up the volume some and began singing along, though not nearly as loud as America. When the song ended another began. Of course England and America knew this one, and again they began to sing.

The two had been traveling for well over a week, stopping at campsites or small little Innes. They made this road trip every other year, switching between countries. Together, the duo would explore the smaller parts of America and England, preferring to stay away from large cities and any tourist traps. Everything had been going swimmingly, and then there was today. Today just seemed as if all the bad luck had finally caught up to the couple.

First, they woke up late and left a lot later than originally planned. Then, they had forgotten to run out the night before and buy food for the camping the next day, so they had to go that morning, but them even further behind schedule. They got lost at least once before ending up stuck behind the motor homes.

"I think we're still lost," America said after a time. He was looking around with a frown. "Oh! OH! The motor homes are pulling over! Oh thank GOD!"

"Well, hurry and pass them," England laughed. He waved a thank you to the drivers as they passed. "Huh. I think it was the same family."

"What? With two homes?"

"I guess. It looked like they were, considering it was the same type of caravan. It looked like a large family." England turned to look out the window at the view. "At least we're past them."

"Yeah, but I think we're still lost. The next information booth I see, we're pulling over."

The music was all that filled the time. Neither spoke, just choosing to watch the passing scenery. England even closed his eyes after a time. He felt America take his hand again. A thumb rubbed along the top, and England smiled.

"OH! There's an information building!" America turned the car to pull over.

He jumped out, seeing a large map posted on a board before the car. England got out as well. He came up behind America, looking until he found the arrow that pointed at their location. England furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to locate where their destination was.

"Alfred, where is the campsite?"

"It's all the way down there," America said angrily. He pointed almost to the bottom of the map. "It's about another hour."

England sighed. "Well…let's hope it won't take us long. Given your driving, the time will most likely be cut in half."

America laughed, getting back in the car. "I'm just glad we're free of those motor homes. Seriously, that was annoying."

"Yes, love." England offered a smile.

They began driving again. England reached into the back seat for a book when he heard America swear. He turned back around. "What? What's wrong?"

"Look!" America pointed out the windshield. "It's those fucking motor homes again!"

Sure enough, the offensive homes were back. America and England were behind a few other cars before seeing the cars slowly turned the corner. Some were even honking. But just as in the same situation as before, there was no place the caravans could turn around.

England began laughing. He put his hand over his mouth, but he continued to laugh. Then, America joined him. They turned back on the radio, blasted some more 80s tunes, and kept laughing. They didn't even care anymore. They were together and that was all that mattered.

"We should switch it to some 90s," England said. He reached to change it. "Perhaps they'll have on some Spice Girls."

"Or Britney."

"If the first song is Backstreet Boys, you have to buy me lunch," England said.

America grinned at him. "You're on."

The driver in front of them just happened to glance up in their rearview mirror. They saw England throw his head back in a laugh as America flung his hands in the air. Then, after laughing at one another, they started dancing in their seat. The driver raised an eyebrow.

"What weirdos…"

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: Based on a true event with me and my sister. Those fucking motor homes. And yes, 80s and 90s music was our savior because we were having a terrible day. The music kept our spirits up.

Sorry for nothing from this week. Just lost the drive. From here on out, I will be updating every day until the end of the event, which is the 28th.


	16. July 22nd Correspondence

**Day 22- July 22nd: **Correspondence. How do they communicate with each other when they're not face to face? Email, Skype, letters, phone calls, etc. Anything about America and England corresponding with each other. It can take place during any era, of course.

* * *

><p>England rarely checked his post. Whomever he needed to talk to was clever enough to know that e-mail was how he kept up with the world. Being a country, he didn't get bills, at least none that were billed directly to his public residence. However, now and then he would check out of nostalgia. So it was a pleasant surprise when he found a single letter addressed to him.<p>

He looked at the return address, but found there was none. He frowned. It had to have been a mistake. But, the person had written England's human name in a delicate scrawl across the front. With a soft "huh", England went inside, and put on a kettle for tea.

Using a letter opener, and after checking to see there wasn't anything other than a letter in the envelope, he opened it up. He pulled out the letter, and his eyes widened. It was on beautiful, brown paper that resembled old scroll papers from when he was younger. The writing was all in cursive, almost as if written by an old quill pen.

_My dearest Arthur,_

_I like to think you are my dearest as you have been for some time. While you may be much older and wiser than me, please do not think I am not good for you. Your smile and laugh warms my heart. It's as soft as a butterfly's wings, fluttering into my stomach. I hope to see it more, especially if I am the one to light up your day. Times are tough, but with you around, I feel as if none of that matters. Because only you matter._

By now England had taken a seat in his chair, a hand over his heart. The letter continued to go on about flowers and sunshine and England's green eyes like fields in the writer's dreams. Near the end, the sender finished his letter by saying:

_I know I do not seem the type to say such things to you, and you will, of course, deny that this letter was ever received. You are romantic. I have seen it only once by accident. It was beautiful. I hope to see it again. We are close friends, but perhaps we can be closer now?_

The letter ended with a simple heart drawn in the lower right corner. England reread the letter at least three more times before setting in on the table beside his cup of tea, now cold and untouched since he poured it. He sighed, realizing his face was red.

In his existence, England had gotten a few love letters, mainly from women that he had dated here and there. At a time there were letters from Portugal that he still secretly saved under his bed. He thought that it was a lost craze, something he'd never see again. It thrilled him to no end that he not only received such a letter, but that he had a secret admirer.

The letter had said they were long time friends, but that could be many of England's allies, assuming it was another country. But which one? It certainly couldn't be France. He would never be this brash. Or rather, England hoped that it wasn't. It could have been Japan, given how he liked to write long poems as was rather well versed in the English language when he wanted to be. Perhaps it was even Portugal, coming back with a crush from their long friendship.

England began wandering the house, his mind only on the letter. He was all smiles as he finished up his remaining paper work, looked over his schedule for the next day, and even as he hunkered down for the night. The letter sat on his night stand, and was the first thing he saw in the morning when he woke.

The next day was a meeting. England wondered if he would be getting another letter from his admirer. Sure enough, upon reaching his chair that morning there was. It was the same hand writing and same form of style.

_Dearest Arthur,_

_If you would like to receive more letters, please leave a letter here for me as well. I await your response._

Again, a small heart in the bottom right.

England quickly pulled out a blank piece of paper and his finest pen. He stopped short, thinking of an appropriate reply other than, "Of course I would you want more letters". That didn't sound nearly as romantic.

_To my mysterious romantic,_

_I am intrigued by your letters, and would be pleased to hear more from you. I hope that someday you reveal to me just who you are. If you wish for us to be more than friends, how am I to know just who you are? Nevertheless, if you want to remain a secret, I will honor this for the time being._

England left the letter on his desk and walked away, pretending he was going to the restroom. He could have turned around and hid around the corner to see who went into the meeting room first, but he liked the idea of this little game. It made everything seem so much more exciting, and Lord knows he needed it.

When he returned, his letter was gone and another had been put in its place. England smiled, slipping it into his inner pocket as the other countries began filing in. During a lull in the meeting he secretly read his letter. Again it was short and simple, but never lacking in enigmatic allure.

_I am thrilled to know you are willing to continue our exchanges of letters. If you wish to reply, leave any letters to me in your post and I will get them._

After that, England kept a secret in his heart that he was developing quite a crush on his admirer. For months now they exchanged letters, some short, and others long and romantic. If any were to read half of what England said, they would probably develop diabetes. All the while, it was fun and passed the time, but England was really hoping that they could meet. His curiosity was getting the better of him. There were no clues as to who this country was. They wrote with British English, never used slang, and never let on to anything that involved their personality. Instead, it was more like in Shakespeare's time when a man would write to a woman about how beautiful she was, or the way she made the man happy. No drama, no nonsense, and never forward or crude.

England rather liked it. He was always so tired and worried for the younger generations every time they came around, especially the newest. They would be brought up in a world where asking someone out was through the internet, and a dance would mean dry humping your partner from behind. Where men could freely insult and abuse their girlfriend, or where love of the same gender was repulsed even in his own lands.

So while he wanted to meet his mysterious admirer, he also liked to keep it a secret, for fear that everything could change.

As it was, he had to go out of town. He left a letter in his post apologizing to his pen pal, and said he would be back soon enough. There was to be a meeting in America. As always, America greeted England with his usual gusto. England said his hellos and moved to his seat. He stopped short when he saw a letter was there, waiting for him.

He quickly moved to grab at it, glancing around in case anyone was nearby. After a moment to compose himself England opened the letter.

_Today, we should meet. I would love to escort you on a date and say you everything I've written in my letters to you in person._

England's heart plummeted. He read the words repeatedly, thinking it might change into something else. Anything else. He wasn't sure what to say. He couldn't turn down the enigma, he could very well offend them and they would cease their letters. Then again, there was the chance that once this illusion of mystery was lifted, England might not have the same connection with the country as they had now.

He agonized over his decision during the meeting, never paying attention to anything America said. Not like it mattered, he could care less about anything half baked ideas America prattled on about. He leaned back in his chair, hands running through his hair, when he glanced over towards America's empty seat. He didn't know why he did. Either way, his eye caught something sticking out of America's suitcase that was perched on the side of the table.

It was a feather pen.

Again, England's heart plummeted. It couldn't be. Those beautiful, flowing words of love and eloquence just couldn't come from a burger chomping loud mouth like America. It was true that England had seen America's kinder and softer sides, knowing full well that America had it in him to be sweet. He just never thought it suited him to be a hopeless romantic like he was.

But then the romance came into question. Since when did America have feelings for England? He certainly never seemed to have had it before. He brushed England off, teased and taunted him, pushing him to his limits, and… constantly getting England's attention. He whined when there was no chocolate on Valentine's Day, or when England didn't make one appearance at his birthday. But was that enough to warrant the fact America had feelings for him?

By the end of the meeting, England had made his decision. He left no note, and instead approached America.

"May I speak with you?" England asked.

America smiled and agreed. He was led out of the room to down the hall and around the corner; away from anyone with prying ears and eyes.

"America… May I see your briefcase?" England asked.

America hesitated. His eyes looked to his case and then back to England. "Whu-why? There's nothing in there."

"I'm curious," England replied. "Humor me."

"I'd rather not."

"America, how will I ever reply to your letters?"

America paused. His eyes stared at England, searching to see if he was playing some trick. Then, he laughed. "What? What're you talking about? What letters?"

"The letters you've been sending me. 'My dearest Arthur'? That heart you always sign with?" England shook his head. "I should've guessed you'd play some kind of game with me."

"Game?"

"Yes, a game." England felt his eyes well up at the thought of it. "Here I was, honestly pouring myself out to you. I can't believe I was so stupid to have been sucked into something like this. You've done some low things in your life, America, but this is by far the lowest."

"Whoa, wait. England, it's not a game." America's face was red as he looked to the ceiling. "Okay, I admit it, I sent those letters. I…I had been wanting to tell you, but every time I practiced saying it, it just sounded stupid. So I tried writing it. I watched a few of my romantic comedies and then, Pride and Prejudice really stuck with me.

"I knew you liked those sappy things, so I tried my hand at it. I…I just wanted to make you happy. And I'll admit, talking like this is fun. It's…it's more than fun. It's nice."

By now, England was just as red in the face, so much so it went to his ears. He could not believe his ears. His young America might have done something like this, written sweet letters, but not the America that stood before him now. And yet, there he was. Fumbling over his words and nervously playing with his clothes like some love struck teenager.

For some reason, England felt his lips curve into a smile. He reached out and took America's hand in an attempt to soothe him. Both their hands were clammy. England recalled America's words, saying that butterflies went into his stomach. He briefly wondered if he was feeling that right now.

"As long as you…keep sending me those letters from time to time…" England leaned in and gave America a sweet kiss. "I suppose we could try this dating thing."

America's eyes sparkled, and he squeezed England's hand affectionately. "I'll never stop writing to you…my dearest Arthur."

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: Well, this one was just gushing from me and has a bit of my "America can be a romantic too" headcanon in there. Also, this is me getting myself prepared for a "You've Got Mail" crossover I promised hakuku a few months back. I really need to get that thing done. Hope you enjoyed!


	17. July 23rd Rain

**Day 23- July 23rd: **Rain. Whether it's a shower or a storm, a freezing rain or a warm sunshower, your fanwork must feature rain in some way shape or form. They can be outside in it, thinking about it, inside but soaking wet from it, etc.

* * *

><p>America had planned for this picnic for weeks. He trekked down the most perfect spot for it, made sure all the food was in order, and surprised England with his plan. England and America had only recently begun dating after America's little letter endeavor that ended in them starting a secret relationship. Unfortunately, that meant America had to keep up on his romantic surprises if he was to keep England's interest. So America found himself in a predicament of coming up with enough said romantic surprises.<p>

A picnic seemed harmless enough. England was more than excited, practically unable to stay in his seat as America drove the two of them to spot he had picked out. It was in the hills of upstate New York. They had spent many springs and summers there when younger, but they always held a rather bittersweet memory in both of their mouths at such a thought. It was time to change that, and create something new.

America and England set up the picnic, choosing a lovely spot underneath a tree. There were wildflowers in a nearby meadow, lush greenery all around them to fill England with the calm he always longed for. America was pleased to see England relax and enjoy himself.

What had started out as a slightly cloudy day, and rapidly become dark and stormy. The wind picked up, blowing the picnic up in their faces. America checked his iPhone for the weather. It had drastically changed to say that a sudden summer storm was brewing in their neck of the woods.

"I'm sorry," America said hastily. He clamored with England to grab as much of the food as he could, just as it began raining.

The two yelped out profanities, tossing the picnic into the back of America's car before jumping in as well. Despite the fact they were only out in the rain for a few moments, it was enough to soak them through. America seemed generally upset, but England was actually laughing.

He wiped at the bangs dripping in his face. "Oh this is pleasant."

America deflated, thinking it was sarcasm. "I'm really sorry… This wasn't supposed to be like this."

"My boy, you have no control over the weather any more than I do." England waved out towards the rain that lashed at the windows. "Let's just enjoy our time together, shall we? We still have the food and each other."

America grinned, his passion reigniting within him. He moved to the backseat and laid the seats flat. Then he clamored into the back, and retrieved the messy picnic. England scooted into the back as well, arranging as much of the food as he could. It was a little soggy, but still edible. America pulled out the bottle of wine he had gotten from France as a birthday gift a few years back. Of course, England didn't have to know it was such a thing. Instead, England nodded at the year and compliment America's taste.

After it was popped open, America poured them both a glass, checking the taste with his own glass first. Then, they clinked glasses and drank. America pulled out the plates with horrendous gusto. England laughed again, calling him a dork. He was actually very impressed by the selection laid out before him. There were many cheeses from around the world, thin slices of ham, pork, and turkey, fresh bread rolls, and enough condiments for the couple to have various choices in their meal.

"Much better than letters, right?" America asked, handing over a paper plate to England.

England shook his head, a smile widening across his face. "I am impressed. You have certainly outdone yourself."

"When's the last time you had such an amazing picnic?" America was certainly growing a large head.

England sat back, looking up as he thought. "I believe that would be… 1324… Or was it 1345?"

America playfully slapped at England's arm, feigning hurt. England merely chuckled. He leaned over to kiss his cheek again. The last time England had done so, America had been to slow to give him a kiss in return. And they certainly hadn't touched lips yet. Today seemed like the perfect chance, though.

Foregoing any hesitation, America turned his head when England pulled away from his face after the kiss. England made a light noise of surprise, his body tensing. America had his eyes closed tight, like a school boy giving his crush their first kiss. But it was their first kiss. And he might not be a school boy, but the young, blossoming affections were still there.

England's face was flushed by the time America pulled back. He wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad sign. He chalked it up to being a victory when England closed his eyes and gave a kiss back. America was unsure where to put his hands, but he felt the need to touch England's face then; assure himself that this wasn't a dream. That England was really kissing him. Confirm that his face really was as soft as it looked. Maybe caress him a little, fingers brushing along the edge of his hairline. And England cupped America's chin, steadying him to stay as close as he could.

It wasn't too long, no matter what the other thought. They sat back a little, clearing their throats. What do they do after their first kiss? Sip wine of course. Continue with the picnic. But, England stole America's hand. America looked at him. Their eyes connected.

"Yes, I agree. This is much better than a letter."

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: Super sorry at how late this is. I was working awfully hard all day, then spent some much needed time with my mom. I also went out and bought 4 new books, so I was a little sidetracked. Haha. I hope you enjoyed this one. Yes, this is in the same timeline as the letter writing. In fact, all the chapters this week are sort of connected in the same timeline, as were a few in past chapters. I'll list them later for your convenience. Thank you.


	18. July 24th Smile

**Day 24- July 24th:** Smile. Share a smile? The fanwork must feature the theme smile/smiling in some way shape or form. This should be pretty self explanatory.

* * *

><p>America's smile was something unique. No one could really not smile when he gave a grin. It lit up rooms and brightened the lowest of spirits. And it was England's favorite thing about him. To not see it was a crying shame, and it only vanished when America was really upset.<p>

England had gotten a phone call from Canada prior to America's arrival, and had been warned that America was in a bit of a mood. England worried that he was in an overly hyperactive mood, but it was soon dashed when America walked in with his shoulders hunched.

"America?" England asked. He put his hands on his shoulders, and could feel how tense they were. "Are you okay?"

"Just gonna lie down a bit, okay?" America then promptly fell onto the sofa, his face in the throw pillows.

England winced, thinking that it might have hurt him, especially since his glasses were still on. A moment later America lifted his head with a frown. "Ow," he said. Then he tosses his glasses to the floor.

England stood there and thought. He hated to see America looking so forlorn, but without him knowing the cause of his unhappiness he couldn't do something. Normally he would try to pry it out of America just what exactly was bothering him, but today he didn't feel up to going through all the trouble. It was too annoying.

If he were to be honest with himself he'd rather skip and just get America to smile.

So instead, he decided he'd try it from a different approach. He would give America a taste of his own medicine and cheer him up the way America tried to cheer England up when he was down. So first step would be the physical approach.

England moved to the sofa and took a spot at the end, pushing aside America's feet. America lifted his head to look back at England.

"What're you doing?" America asked.

England surged forward and hugged America around his midriff. America let out a noise of surprise, clearly caught off guard. His arms raised above him as he looked down at England, unsure of where he should put his hands. England wasn't completely against physical contact, but he wasn't usually the one to initiate it. And he was now nuzzling into America's chest.

"E-England? What's going on?" America's face heated up slightly, but he pushed himself to stop thinking of such thoughts. Instead he sat up and lightly pulled England off of him. "What's gotten into you?"

England frowned. "Hm… let's try this, then."

The second step was to be silly. So England began tickling America. His fingers drifted down under America's sweatshirt, pulling it up enough to reveal the pink flesh. It had been too long since he had gone to get a tan. It was normally much tanner than this. That aside, England started flexing his fingers across America's vulnerable skin.

America made a noise more akin to a yelp than a laugh. He scrambled away from England, stuffing his shirt back down. His face was all the more red now, but still no smile. Now he looked a little confused and frustrated. So plan two didn't work. Plan three involved food.

England jumped up off the couch. America flinched, thinking that England was coming back for more, but he relaxed when he saw England heading towards the kitchen. Only that was never a good sign. He followed quickly.

"What're you doing now?" he asked warily.

"I was going to make you something to eat," England replied as he opened up his cabinets to look for something.

America hastily moved to pull England away. He patted England's back and shook his head. "You don't have to go through all of that trouble. Besides… I ate on the plane. I'm stuffed."

England frowned. Even if America really had eaten on the plane, he'd still be hungry. So much for plan three. That left it up to the fourth plan of action that America used on him; the sexual approach.

America was taken by surprise when he found himself pressed against the counter. England slid his knee in between America's legs, grabbing America's chin and pulling his lips down to his. Again, another surprised noise came from America as England slipped his tongue into his mouth. But this went a little better than the previous plans. At least America was receptive of this.

They kissed for a little bit, England's hands roaming in America's hair. America was beginning to lighten up, but he wasn't hardening against his knee like England had hoped. He pulled away after a bit, wiping at his lips.

"Do you feel better, love?" England asked in a whisper.

America blinked, still in a haze from the kiss. "Uh? What? Were you trying to cheer me up?"

England flushed. "You… You always do the same tactics to get me to be happy, so I was doing the same." Is what England wanted to say. Instead he said something more along the lines of, "Don't be ridiculous. It wasn't for you."

America tilted his head, even more confused now. "So… it was for you? You enjoyed hugging me and tickling me and kissing me?"

That earned him a slap on the arm as England moved away, his face red. "Leave it to you to twist my words."

"What? I'm just saying…" America sighed. Now he seemed even more upset. "Geez, I didn't come here to fight with you…"

England looked at him and sighed. His plans were all back firing on him. Had America done these same things on him, England would've been in a much better mood. So how was it America was not? This called for England's last resort.

"Come with me," England said. He held his hand out in a non-threatening manner. America looked at his hand and then to him. "Just come with me, please."

America sighed, but took his hand. He followed as he was led out into the garden. England had recently been given a wonderful rose garden as a gift from America. He had tended to it with the utmost care, so it was always impeccable. The roses were in full bloom with bright faces reaching up towards the sun, the red and green colors enveloping the couple.

England said nothing. He merely lied down, patting the spot beside him. America sighed and sat down. After a time, he lied on his back. England's hand reached over and took America's hand in his. Their fingers interlaced together. All around them was the smell of the roses. A gentle breeze ruffling their hair. A few clouds wafting over the sun to darken the sky, but for just a moment.

"Thank you…," America whispered after a time. He sighed.

England turned his head to look at him, and found he was already being stared at. America was smiling now. Slightly red, England reached out and caressed America's cheek.

"It's terrible when you are sad," England mumbled. "I don't like it…"

"So you _were_ trying to cheer me up." America chuckled. "But you totally did it my way."

"Yes, and that's why it didn't work. I had to make up my own way."

"I thought your way was you just asking me." England frowned.

"I didn't think you'd like that."

America shrugged. "To be honest, I was waiting to tell you. I feel better whenever I get it off my chest. It's nice to have someone listen to me."

England's eyes widened. "Oh…so… all of this was unnecessary?"

America chuckled. He rolled over so he hovered above England. His smile was warmer, much more like his regular one. England smiled in return. He put a hand on America's face.

"I dunno about that. I certainly didn't mind. Especially when you kissed me…" America trailed off as he leaned down and gave England a kiss. "I liked that the best."

"I bet you did," England said, a smile evident in his voice.

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: Some days I can't tell whose smile I love more: America's or England's. They are just so sl;kjhskjnhsg. Sorry. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed today's prompt!


	19. July 25th TeaCoffee

**Day 25- July 25th: **Tea/Coffee. The beverages of choice for England and America respectively. Either tea, coffee, or both must be featured in the fanwork somewhere. They can be drinking it, discussing it, going to/working at a place that sells it, etc.

* * *

><p>It wasn't a special day. There was nothing that stood out. Just that the little bell in the coffee shop tinkled and customers came in. Alfred and his crew were hard at work behind the counter. They didn't remember faces, but who would? They all ordered the same thing. <em>Mocha frappaccino, soy latte, <em>or _low-fat, sugar free iced tea_. Then they would take their drinks and leave, or go fill up the chairs in the cramped quarters of the small shop.

Alfred was washing up the counter that day. Nothing unusual. Then came the ring of the bell. He lifted his eyes, smiling to welcome the customer. The customer was a blonde man with a terrible sense of fashion. He was wearing a sweater vest, penny loafers, and horrid brown pants that seemed a little too big for his small frame. The baby blue sweater vest was hard to see over the notebooks the man had clutched to his chest.

The man glanced at Alfred, and then promptly turned away. He moved to grab a seat by the window that faced the counter. He plopped down and dumped his notebooks on the table. Alfred watched as the man finished up by pulling out half-rimmed glasses that he put on, flipping open the top notebook. He pulled out a mechanical pencil from seemingly nowhere. Again, the man glanced up.

This time, Alfred chanced a different smile. This time it was more in a questioning, "You want anything to drink?" way. The man looked away again. He began scribbling in his book.

One of the Alfred's co-workers called for him. So Alfred left.

All day, the man sat at the table, writing. He never got up to ask for anything, not even if he could use the restroom. He would occasionally look up at Alfred, but pointedly looked away when Alfred turned his way.

Then, shortly before closing time, he stood up. It was so abrupt that it startled Alfred, who was in the middle of steaming the milk. He watched as the blonde man left.

How weird, he thought. Then went back to work.

The next day, it was the same thing. The blonde man came in, this time with a different sweater vest on, but still brown pants and penny loafers. Again, notebooks, and again, his glasses were on. Alfred was much busier this day as it was a Saturday. He flew to and fro, helping customers and his co-workers. All day long, though, he felt the man's eyes on him.

Something occurred to Alfred. He wondered what the man's eye color was. He chanced a look over, finding he was being stared at. _Green._ They were impossibly green. Bright, but dark at the same time. The man looked startled to be found out, but then he cast his eyes downward.

He left shortly afterwards, just as suddenly as the last time.

The third day, Alfred attempted to try and be kind to the strange writer. He thought that maybe he was a reporter, doing a story on their location. He hoped so, as during the week it could get awfully slow. So Alfred made him a fresh cup of coffee, putting it in their cup.

He placed it on the table. The man jerked his head up, eyes wide. He looked over the rim of his glasses at Alfred, not noticing the coffee. Alfred merely smiled as he backed away. He didn't want to upset the man.

But it didn't work. He scrambled up his notebook and quickly rushed out. Then, he stopped at the door, as if remembering something. He dug in his pocket, finding a few loose change and some dollar bills. He went to the counter, putting it all in the tip jar. Finally, he left. Alfred sighed, wondering if he'd come back the next day. But his worries were all for naught. The man did indeed return come Monday morning.

That time, Alfred put the coffee at the table just as the man came in. He seemed to time his arrival at noon, staying until just a little after eight. All the time, he would write and watch, sometimes it would be the employees working, but mostly it was Alfred.

The man stopped short. He looked at the coffee, then to Alfred. His expression seemed a little pained. Alfred preferred him without the glasses on. His eyes were much clearer. Briefly, he thought if that were the same with his own eyes, having them constantly hidden behind glasses. So he took them off, and gestured for the man to take a seat.

He did, but said nothing. Alfred returned to work, but again, it was a slow day. He checked up on the writer occasionally. Not once did he touch his coffee. So Alfred went and replaced it. He even put a little blueberry muffin on the side. The man picked at the muffin during the day, but still ignored the coffee. Eventually, it rounded on eight and the man left.

Tuesday was a much better day. Alfred happened to have some more courage than usual. He not only placed the coffee on the table with an apple fritter, but he also sat down. The man tensed up, eyes wide. He clutched his books to his chest again, as if holding on to them in case he drown. Alfred smirked, thinking he was cute.

He looked him over, noticing that his clothes still were very old for such a young face. He was probably just a few older than him, college at most. But everything about him screamed for everyone to stay away, from the way he carried himself to his clothes. Except for those eyes. Despite the fact they were under unfortunate eyebrows, they shone more than anything on him.

Right now, those eyes were watching Alfred carefully. They studied him.

Then, they put the notebooks back down on the table. Slowly, he pushed them over to Alfred. Alfred was caught off guard. They hadn't even said hello to each other yet. He didn't even know the man's name. Still, he picked up the book and began reading from the start.

After a moment, his mouth dropped open. Not only was the writing incredibly beautiful, but it was all about him. How he moved "fluidly from one station to the next", how "his eyes glittered at the customers, helping them out with such a meaningless task that meant so much to a golden boy like him", and how "his kindness outshone everyone else's in the building."

Slowly, Alfred thought of just what he could say to that. He was flattered, but couldn't think of anything other than "thank you", which wouldn't do. He had to think of something better. What was better than en entire notebook filled with entries about you, though?

The man grabbed the notebook from Alfred's hand. He had been clenching his fists into his pants, looking down at his lap all the while. His face was so red it had spread to his ears. Without saying a word he left. Alfred tried to stop him, but it was no use. He was fast.

Again, his coffee lay untouched.

Wednesday came. Alfred looked at the clock, sighing in dismay. It was past noon, and still no sign of the writer. Perhaps that had been the final straw. Maybe he had moved on to someone else. Or he just didn't like Alfred anymore. Either way, it made Alfred uneasy.

Then, the bell rang. Alfred looked up from cleaning the counter. There was the man. He was without his notebooks today. And this time, he approached the counter.

"Tea," the man said. His voice had a distinct British accent.

"Huh?" Alfred thought himself an idiot for his intelligent reply. "I mean, sorry?"

A light flutter of a smile, but it was soon concealed. "You always give me coffee. I enjoy tea."

Alfred smiled, relieved. "Tea it is, uh…"

"Arthur."

"It's nice to meet you, Arthur. Let me get you your tea."

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: This song is based off of the song, _Falling In Love at a Coffee Shop_. Feel free to see it on Youtube. It's a brilliant song.


	20. July 26th Nekotalia

**Day 26- July 26th:** Nekotalia. Anything featuring Himaruya's Nekotalia universe. It can be the cats by themselves, the cats with normal America and England, AU, non-AU, etc.

* * *

><p>"England?" America called as he came into the house. It was unusually dark for the fact it was midday and England should be running around the house with a phone to his ear and papers in his hands. America frowned, as he called out for England again.<p>

He stumbled over something, yelping in surprise. Quickly he shone the light from his iPhone on a pair of bright eyes from underneath the couch. They belonged to a small cat with bright green eyes. America sighed in relief.

"Crumpet, come here," America beckoned with a calm voice. "I'm sorry to scare you."

Crumpet poked his nose out, sniffing at America's outstretched hand. He seemed to remember America. Before long, he came out and even licked America's fingers. America chuckled and scooped Crumpet into his arms. The cat was mostly white, but had two orange spots on his head and butt, bleeding onto his tail. He also had strange black markings over his eyes that resembled eyebrows; almost exactly like England's eyebrows.

England had gotten him as a gift from America just a few months previously. England had taken to the cat almost instantly, but Crumpet was still rather shy around England. He wasn't when America was around. America claimed it was due to his "charm".

"Where's England, Crumpet?" America asked, as if the cat could answer. "Isn't he home?"

Crumpet flicked his tail, and then jumped out of America's arms. He meowed once, looking back with almost a bored expression. Usually Scottish Folds such as Crumpet had a more surprise or scared expression to their face. Somehow, Crumpet was the opposite. He looked apathetic.

Nevertheless, he continued meowing until America got the hint and followed him. Crumpet raced upstairs, sitting at the top of the step until America joined him. He always carried himself in a very regal manner. That was the deciding factor in America buying the cat as a gift to England back on his birthday. They acted too similar.

Eventually they reached England's bedroom. America didn't even knock. He went into the room and rushed to England's bedside where he found the nation sleeping. His face looked red and there was a wet cloth on his forehead. America moved it aside and felt his head for his temperature.

"Why didn't you tell me you were sick…?" America whispered. He moved around to make sure England was well tucked in. Then he took the cloth and poured fresh cold water on it before replacing it back on England's forehead. Finally, he left with Crumpet in his arms.

He went back down the stairs, flipping on the lights in the living area and the kitchen. He put Crumpet back on the floor, smiling down at him with his hands akimbo. "All right, Crump! Here's what we're gonna do! I'm gonna make a delicious meal for England so he can get all better! Does that sound fun?"

Crumpet stared at up with little interest in his kitty face. He licked his paw, then thought that now was a good time for a full bath. America turned away with a "tsk" as Crumpet reared his hind leg up in the air.

"Some help you are." He turned to the counter, rolling up his sleeves. "All right! Let's get started!"

But Crumpet would have nothing to do with America's cooking adventure. He decided now was a good time to leave. Out through the cat door in the back door, down the backyard's pathway, through the rose garden, and off on his own. Crumpet preferred to be outside than inside where he was more likely to have his tail stepped on when England was rushing about at work.

While out he heard a rather loud cry from the nearby bushes. At first he tensed, his tail erect and fur standing on edge. But then a little white kitten rolled out. Crumpet immediately lowered his defenses. He scooted up to sniff at the kitten that was still too tiny to even open its eyes, ears still flat.

_Where am I? Help! Help!_

_Calm yourself, child_. Crumpet licked the kitten's head. _I will take you back to your mother._

_I don't have a mommy._

Crumpet's already flat ears pressed down more on his head. It was sad to see a young kitten already separated from his mother. Without a mother, the kitten was sure to die. Crumpet then thought back to how many times America declared himself a hero. He grabbed the kitten by the scruff of his neck and raced back to England's house.

America was still in the kitchen. He was looking over directions in a cookbook when Crumpet placed the kitten at his feet. He meowed up at America until he looked down.

"Hey, what'cha got there? Is it a mouse?" America bent down, pushing his glasses further up on his face. He stopped when the kitten mewed. He snapped upright. "Oh my God, it's a kitten. Ah, shit. Crumpet! Where the hell did you get a kitten?"

Crumpet nodded at the door. America ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck. I can't handle this right now. England's sick and… Crumpet, can you take care of him?"

Crumpet gave more or less a nod as he picked the kitten back up. He politely took his leave, tail swishing happily in the air. He plopped the kitten down in his bed where he curled around him to give him motherly warmth. The kitten responded well. His little paws kneaded into Crumpet's belly, expecting the male cat to give milk.

_I'm sorry. I'm not a female._

_I'm hungry! I'm hungry! Milk! I want milk!_

Crumpet looked around. There was no possible way he could give the kitten anything from the fridge. That was simply a human thing. Perhaps he could ask a fellow female feline in the neighborhood to donate her milk. However, as he started to get up, the kitten began to wail.

_Don't leave! I'm scared! Stay with me!_

Crumpet sat back down. He licked the kitten's head to calm him. _I'm not going anywhere. It's okay._

_What's your name?_ The kitten sniffed at Crumpet, his little tail shaking as if it wanted to wag in happiness.

_My master calls me Crumpet. My master is…kind. Perhaps he will take you in as well._

_Does that mean you won't leave?_

Crumpet purred as he gave the kitten a little head bump. _I won't leave._

America was finished with working in the kitchen and rushed upstairs. When he returned he looked satisfied. He flopped onto the couch with a loud, "AH!" Then he remembered Crumpet had a kitten.

"I don't think England will like two cats," he mused aloud. The cats were sleeping soundly. "But…I can't let a little guy like that go anywhere else. I wonder if he's hungry."

America woke the cats as he pulled the kitten from Crumpet. The kitten put up a protest, but it was futile. He was much too weak to do much of anything else other than call for Crumpet. The older cat followed America as they went into the kitchen. He kept a watchful eye on America, howling at him.

_Don't drop him! Be careful, human! Don't squeeze him!_

"All right, all right!" America snapped. He had pulled out a little eye dropper from England's junk drawer. He filled it with milk and started to feed the kitten. Almost instantly both parties silenced. America sighed in relief. "You two… I swear…"

Crumpet sat at America's feet while the kitten ate. America watched with a fond smile. "You're so cute. If England doesn't want you, I'll take you."

Crumpet's ears twitched. He turned around just as England staggered into the kitchen. "Take what…?"

America would have jumped up, if it weren't for the fact the kitten was still in his hands. He didn't want to startle him. "What're you doing out of bed?"

"I'm thirsty…," England croaked. His fever had gone down, but now his entire face was devoid of color. He stumbled towards the faucet, grabbing a cup sitting in the nearby wash rack. "What's in your hand?"

"Um… Crumpet found a kitten." America waited until England finished drinking. Then, England turned to face him.

"What?"

"He's so cute! But if you can't take him, I understand. I can totally take him," America offered.

England blinked, obviously out of it. "…What?"

America chuckled. "Go back to bed. I'll take care of things."

For the next few days, America kept to his word. He not only took care of the cats, but was at England's every beck and call. He made soup after soup for England, reading to him when he got bored, and tucked him in whenever he slipped into sleep. At the same time he would feed the kitten and care for Crumpet. Luckily, aside from the feeding, America didn't have to do much with the kitten. Crumpet had taken it upon himself to nurture for the small thing.

Finally, England felt well enough and was formally introduced to the kitten. By this time, Crumpet had become even more possessive of the little one. Especially since the kitten's eyes were open and his ears were starting to stick up.

"He's certainly cute," England said, petting him on the head while he sat in his lap. "Have you a name for him?"

"I was thinking something like Ace or Champ. He's a real trooper." America rubbed the kitten between the ears. "He was almost a lost case. Crumpet was really awesome and took care of him the entire time."

England smiled down at Crumpet. "It would be a shame to separate them. I'll keep him for the time being. But if I may, I'd like to name him?"

America nodded. "Your cat."

England paused for a moment. He noticed there was the beginning of brown around the collar of his neck, along with a few marks around his eyes. He smiled to himself. "Ace."

"What? But I just said-"

"I know." England blushed. He put the kitten back on the floor where he teetered off, curious as always. "I'm naming him that because…he makes me think of you."

America hugged England around the shoulders, kissing his cheek. His face was also red as he nuzzled into England's neck. "You…are sometimes too cute."

Crumpet purred from the floor. He picked up Ace and returned to his cat bed. There, he curled up with Ace kneading into him again. It was now a habit, despite knowing that America fed him.

_You're happy._ Ace tried to purr too, but he was still a little too young. Instead he licked Crumpet's face.

_Yes, because you get to stay after all._ Crumpet looked over at England and America, enjoying them cuddling together, watching the two of them cuddle in their bed. _I told you… My master is kind. They both are._

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: This is an extra special chapter as Haro (one of the mods at the USUK lj community) underwent surgery today and wanted a lot of cat stories. I wanted to make sure this was a good one, despite the fact writing the Nekotalia universe is extremely hard for me. I hope you liked it!

Also, a sad note. Livejournal is having problems, and many users are unable to post their own prompts on the appropriate days. As such, the mods had extended the time of the prompts, pushing back the final three days. Since those days are now on the 28th, 29th, and 30th, I will not update until then. But don't worry, I will update regardless.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	21. July 27th Tropical Vacation

**Day 27- **July 29th: ****Tropical Vacation- Because taking a trip down to the tropics always sounds like a great idea. America and England go on a tropical vacation! Are they on a cruise, staying at an island hotel, scuba diving, sunbathing, or what? It's up to you. As for a location that would constitute a 'tropical vacation,' I'll leave it up to you. I trust you won't have them sipping drinks in the Yukon or something. XD

* * *

><p>"Ame-Alfred! Wait!" England called. He caught himself before he let America's real name slip out. There were humans present.<p>

However, none really cared about the name. They were too busy laughed at England stumbled down the sidewalk, arms barely managing to keep hold of the three giant suitcases he dragged along. America, meanwhile, walked ahead oblivious to England's struggle behind him.

He came to a stop, and looked up at the hotel. He narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. After a moment he looked away in disapproval. "Nope! Not this one!"

England, having barely been able to catch up, groaned in agony. "Alfred… _what_ makes _this_ hotel different from the past fifteen?"

"I don't like this one, or any of the others we saw," America all too cheerfully replied.

"Well, I liked them all just fine!" England snapped. "Including this one."

America stopped. He tapped on his chin in thought. "You know what? We should go to some other country instead. Maybe coming to Italy was a bad idea."

That did it.

England dropped the suitcases, seething in obvious rage. America caught on quick, usually slow on the uptake. He rushed to England with his hands up in defense. It was all he could do given the fact it was because of him the couple had been walking around the south Italian city for hours since their arrival.

The Italian brothers had graciously extended an invitation to both America and England to stay in any of their hotels. England found it rather odd, but America didn't protest. They agreed on a day, and then were off. However, upon reaching their desired location, America couldn't agree o any of the hotels. And now, England had reached his limit.

"Okay, we'll stay here," America said quickly. "Oh would you look at that. Nice. Italian décor. Wouldn't you say?"

England shoved both suitcase handle's into America's chest. He stormed inside without waiting for America to catch up.

"Welcome to the Oasis. May I help you?" The female receptionist greeted the two with a smile. Her English was heavily laced with an Italian accent.

America was well versed enough in Italian, and continued the conversation in it. "May we have a suite for three nights? One King-sized bed?"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "A suite?"

America smiled widely. "Yeah."

"I don't think we have a suite for walk-ins," the receptionist replied without looking at her computer.

America frowned. "Then…we'll go somewhere else."

England grabbed America's arm. "No. We don't have to have a suite. Just a regular room is perfectly fine, really!"

Just so long as we don't go back out into that heat, England prayed. But America held firm.

He pulled out a credit card, waving it in front of the lady. "See this card? It's government funded. My beautiful boyfriend here wants to stay here. We're staying here. I'll do whatever it takes to make my boyfriend happy."

* * *

><p>As touched as England was by America's stern demands, he was also incredibly horrified that America had practically threatened the poor receptionist to get the suite. The bellhop took the tip America handed him, and then left. England stood by the window, looking out at the beautiful Italian afternoon. When arms laced around his stomach, England allowed himself a small smile.<p>

Then, he turned and glared at America. "How could you act so foolishly? You didn't have to do it by force."

America rolled his eyes. "Did you want to keep walking? Besides, you know you thought I was totally awesome. Being all big and strong, getting' us a hotel room."

England shook his head, but allowed that smile from earlier to escape. He touched America's biceps affectionately. "Yes, yes. Such a show. But why did you have to look at so many others before landing on this one?"

At this, America blushed. He nuzzled his nose into England's neck, giving him brief kisses. "I had asked the brothers to give us this vacation time. Because I wanted it all to be perfect."

England was silent a moment. He just listened to America's breathing, his hands now on America's heart where he felt his pulse race. He gave the area over his heart a swift kiss. America looked down at him. England pulled America's face close to his, their lips short of touching.

"It is perfect. I'm with you, am I not?"

America let out a breathy laugh. "I forgot…you're a sap."

England pecked America's nose, staring into his eyes. "You are too, you know."

"Yeah well, I learned from the best."

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: Second to last prompt. Tomorrow is the last day! It's gonna be a BIG one tomorrow. I hope you all enjoy it!  
>Also, to those that follow me regularly, please note that after <em>Rainbow Veins<em> updates this upcoming week, I will also have a brand new mini-series alongside it. I hope you all look forward to it. :3


	22. July 28th Love

**Day 28- July 31st: **Love. This is the last theme of summer camp, so you get a nice, vague, simple one. Love! The idea of love must be featured in your fanwork. Go wild!

* * *

><p>The day had been beautiful. Everything from watching the sunrise, the walk on the beach at lunch, to the evening stroll down the Italian city street. All weekend, England and America had lived up as much of their three nights, four day stay in the city that the Italians had allowed for them to stay on their time and money. America had revealed the night they arrived that he had asked the brothers for the favor. England, as touched as he was, knew something was up.<p>

As they arrived back at their hotel and spent their last evening together standing on the old balcony overlooking the city, he knew that soon America was going to ask him something. His heart raced just thinking about it. It was rather silly of him when the idea popped into his head, sometime back around lunch on the beach. However, it grew during the day into a full-fledged dream that excited him to no end and he braced himself to give his answer.

For a time, England mulled over just what answer he would give. Would he say yes? More like, could he say yes? There was a lot to take into consideration. A country couldn't just get married with anyone, especially not another country. For Austria and Hungary it was all well and good, but that was a different time and the circumstances were much different. Hungary or Austria didn't raise the other, then rebel, and come back to be the other's hero, now did they? They didn't go through at least twenty-years of grueling political battles afterwards, only to end up unable to be together given that time's current political and overwhelming feeling from the people. Now, America and England were on the best of terms and had been dating for over twenty years.

Was that enough to warrant marriage? Marriage had never seemed something tangible for England, especially given his reserved nature and rather stagnant desire to keep hold of a relationship. And yet, a relationship was what he had gotten once he and America had begun dating after America left letters in his post. England was wary at first, not sure if it was a good idea. Neither one of them had brilliant track records of staying with a partner for long.

Then again, these were countries, not humans. And it was America, the one person England had learned he could trust with everything. They shared political secrets, military bases, and television shows (although England jokingly said America stole his), among other things. England certainly couldn't consider any of his past lovers, human or country, to have ever gotten as close to him as America had been to him now.

Most important of all, England knew that if they fought, he'd still love him come morning. And America would be there beside him, possibly with that sheepish smile or a bouquet of roses, mumble something resembling an apology, and life would continue on. There was just that much of forgiveness at the other's faults, even on the days England was most exhausted with America.

America poured England some more wine, and then himself. He looked back out at the setting sun, the view bathed in warm oranges and reds.

England sighed. "What a wonderful weekend."

"You said it," America said. He put an arm around England's shoulders. "So glad we picked this hotel."

"You mean after I made you stop being a complete idiot and just pick one?" England reminded him.

America laughed. "Details."

They were silent a moment before America turned his head to look at England. England could feel eyes on him, studying him. His cheeks were hot as he looked over at America. They just stared for a time before America took England's hand.

"Arthur?" America asked. Human names- a sign of affection. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes," England replied. "The answer to your question you're going to ask is yes."

America's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Wow. How'd you know?"

"Well, to be honest, I wasn't sure if I was going to say yes or not," England started, his voice shaky. "But as the weekend wore on I knew that I could easily say yes when you asked me."

America blinked at England before smiling slowly. "It took you all weekend?"

England blushed. "Is that too soon?"

"I'd say that's too long. I just thought it up right now."

"What?" England looked almost offended. "You mean you haven't put _any _thought into this matter at all? You just grabbed the thought out of thin air?"

America's eyes shifted before settling on England. He looked completely lost. "Yeah. Dude, what's wrong? Why are you getting upset?"

England huffed, throwing up his hands. "Because this is hardly the time to be- Whatever. Just, yes, okay you twit?"

"All right…?" America moved his hand out, to which England stuck his own out. America stopped. "What're you doing?"

"Are you going to put it on?" England asked.

"I'm getting more wine." America reached around England. He grabbed the bottle, pulling it back to fill his glass up again. When he saw England's hand was still held out, he thrust it into him. "Here ya go."

"What?" England looked at the wine angrily. "I didn't want this."

"Then…why is your hand out?"

"I'm waiting for the ring!"

America looked behind him, expecting something to be there. Something that could explain this entire situation because England was making no sense to him. "What ring?"

Now England's face was red with frustration rather than admiration. "Our engagement ring! Tell me you remembered to buy one! Honestly, how-"

"Whoa, wait, Arthur," America said hastily. He held his hands up to stop England. "You…You thought I was asking you to marry me?"

"Of course!" England threw his hand out at the Italian city they overlooked. "Why else would you whisk me away to a trip to Italy where you asked the Italian brothers to set up this romantic weekend? Why else have you been showering me in gifts as of late, the rose garden being the most recent of two years ago?"

America rubbed the back of his head bashfully. "Geez, I had no idea you really thought that… Can't I just get you gifts because I love you? I told you, we can't get married. Remember at Will and Kate's wedding? We can't get married. You know that."

England's heart first clenched so hard it almost broke, but breaking would be all too easy. It thundered in his ears, drowning out anything else other than "we can't get married". An overwhelming and crushing blow struck not just his happiness but his pride. He had been so foolish to assume that he could actually get what he wanted in life. Was it so much that he finally accepted he would settle down in his life with someone? Live happily ever after?

Yes, it was. Because nations don't get such things. Worse still, they weren't even allowed to dream for it.

England stumbled back, dropping his wine glass. It broke at his feet. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he wasn't sure why. It was a mixed case of a broken heart and sheer embarrassment at his rash thinking. Really, only a weekend? Perhaps if he hadn't been whisked away by America's romantic gestures all the time he'd have thought more logically. This was why he stopped letting his heart rule him.

America stopped him, though. He pulled him to his chest, his voice soft and gentle. "Hey, don't cry. Shh, it's okay."

"You…you said one day," England croaked. How humiliating. Now he was trying to grasp at something, anything, to hold on to that distant dream of America forever being by his side. "You said it was possible… one day. That tissue ring…!"

Now England's voice was rising. He was losing control of his emotions. Of course America would be the one to provoke this kind of reaction from him, even if it was unintentional.

America held firm. "I know… I said it was possible, but I don't know. You know my people… they just couldn't do it. Arthur, it's just…"

"You don't want to marry me?" England pushed away, infuriated. "Why wouldn't you want to marry me?"

"No! It's totally not like that."

America struggled to explain himself, but it was of no use. No matter what answer or explanation he gave it wouldn't soothe England's frayed nerves. It wasn't him asking England to marry him.

With a heavy heart he watched as England stormed off. Their weekend, and possibly their relationship, was shattered.

* * *

><p>England refused to speak to America the remainder of their vacation. They were to leave in the early afternoon the following day, so breakfast and lunch had been painfully awkward. America tried his best to patch up everything with England. He continued to apologize, he bought his gifts, and he tried to sneak in kisses. The latter idea ended up with a sock to his jaw.<p>

The thing that confused America was how was he to know England had wanted marriage? Sure there was that time a few years before with the wedding of Will and Kate where England had expressed it, but that was two years ago. Since then, America had been thrown into rather distressing times. He had resorted to writing letters, sporadic one-night visits, and limited intimate physical encounters. England was understanding and patient seeing as he had his own tower of problems to deal with, but now was hardly the time to consider such a step in their relationship.

And was marriage between a country that had thrown off the crown of England and England himself possible? Even if America asked his boss and his people, there would be a unanimous vote of no. Sure, the people loved to spread gossip of their relationship in the tabloids ever since America showed to the world they were dating. It had been in hopes the world would be more in favor of countries having actual lives.

So far so good, or so he thought. But if the idea was even mentioned, America knew he would land in a heap of trouble with any one of his political bigheads.

Still, he was true to his word: he wanted to marry England and would if he could.

Now, they stood at the airport. England's flight had been called. He didn't even glance at America as he took his rolling suitcase and began to head for his gate. America watched his retreating back. A bitter taste seeped into his mouth. He licked his lips, thinking if reaching out for him England would turn and hit him again.

He did so anyways. And England stopped. And then he turned. And then America felt like crying himself.

Carefully he pulled out the tissue ring he had given him so long ago. England kept to his promise of wearing it only when they were visiting each other. Last night, England had almost thrown it into the wastebasket. He thought better of it, and instead stuffed it into America's jacket pocket. Now America was holding it out to him.

"Please…? Don't go."

England looked from the ring to America's eyes. Then, he sighed. He came and hugged America around the neck. "Don't cry, my love."

Somehow, America was crying. He was honestly terrified. He clung to England, hiding his face in case someone saw him. He didn't cry. Even when England left him when he first became a country. He just watched as England did, telling himself that England cried hard enough for the both of them.

"Just because I can't marry you doesn't mean I don't love you," America whispered. He kissed England's neck, then rest his lips against the skin. "Please believe me."

"I know." England rubbed his hand through America's hair in a soothing gesture. "I know… I'm sorry. I was just… can you blame me for being so upset? I was rather hopeful."

America tried to laugh, but he ended up coughing. Quickly he wiped his face before moving away to look at England. "I just have never known someone that wants to marry me so badly."

England flushed. "Hush up now. You make me sound like some old sap."

"You mean you aren't?" America grinned. He kissed England's cheek, pressing the ring into his hands. "Take this. It's a promise."

There was another call for England's flight. He kissed America's cheek in return before pulling away. He stuck the ring into his overcoat pocket, then hurried to catch his plane. He looked back, giving a light wave at America, and then handed over his passport and ticket.

"Arthur!" England turned around. America smiled at him, determined. "I'll do my best."

* * *

><p>America's plane had been delayed for two hours, so he ducked out of the airport to wander around and grab a bite to eat. He could have easily done so in the airport, but he found it too stuffy. He needed to get his mind off of his current problem in his relationship.<p>

All around him were couples, happily enjoying the bright summer Italian day. What was there not to enjoy? They could love and marry freely. No reporters stalked them, or politics created around their dates, and they certainly didn't have to sneak out to another country just to have a moment or two alone. Or maybe they did, what did America know about Italians? Other than two were walking right up to him.

"_Ciao_ Veneciano, Romano," America greeted.

"_Ciao_ America! How was the weekend? Did it work?" Veneciano asked. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with anticipation at the news.

"Did what work?" America asked.

"The romantic weekend," Romano replied. He put a hand on Veneciano in hopes of stopping him. It didn't. He shot him a glare that went as unnoticed as his hand.

"Yeah, weren't you going to propose to England?"

America ducked his face. "N-no. Why do you guys think that? Even England thought I was…"

Veneciano stopped his movements. Now he bent over to try and get a good look at America. "You mean you didn't?"

"How could I?" America looked over at a couple kissing down an alley. His face was red just watching. "Countries don't marry…"

"Hungary and Austria did!" Veneciano proclaimed. "You two could."

"No, it's different."

"How so?" Romano asked. Now his arms were crossed and he had a sour frown on his face. It seemed he had been let down by the lack of good news.

"Well, Austria and Hungary didn't have a Revolutionary War like England and I did, you know?" America tore his eyes from the couple, turning his attention to the brothers before him. "It'd be weird to get back together with him."

"But….you love England, don't you?" Veneciano asked. His tone was so innocent, so pure. It was almost as if he were asking what the time was.

"O-of course," America replied. Now the blush had spread to his ears.

"Then what's holding you back?" Romano asked. His tone was more frustration and exasperation, as if he thought America was a fool.

"I just told you! It's…it's a different time than when Hungary and Austria got married."

Veneciano and Romano looked at each other.

"It's not that different," Veneciano started. "It's love after all. That doesn't change. Love is love."

"And besides, since when did you really follow the rules of other countries?" Romano smirked. He recalled the Roaring Twenties he had with America and how often he'd see America breaking all the laws, his own laws even. "The old laws of countries were if you were ruled by a bigger nation then it was pointless to even try and rebel. But you broke that right away, didn't you?"

America laughed. His ego certainly got a boost just then. "Yeah, well… This is a little bit bigger. And besides I now have to worry about being at the center stage of the world. If I sneeze, someone knows about it. I think a little thing like marrying another country would be noticeable."

The Italian brothers shrugged in unison, and America was reminded of his own brother, Canada. "So what?"

"So what? So my people, that's what." America checked the time. He should be heading back to the airport soon. "I could never do something without consulting them first, not something this huge."

"You didn't ask their permission to date England in the first place, did you?" Veneciano asked coyly.

That got America. He sighed and dropped his head in defeat. "Okay… Even if my people magically said yes, England's sure wouldn't. They don't hate me or the war anymore, but they'd rather die than be reunited with me. And…I couldn't put all of these financial and societal problems on England either."

"America, you're making this really hard on yourself," Romano said. "There's another way."

America snapped his head up, a light in his eyes that wasn't there a moment ago. He looked rather hopeful, but tried to not let his emotions get the best of him just yet. Not yet.

Veneciano and Romano smiled at each other. "We know someone who can help."

"Well, we know a _lot_ of someones that can help," Veneciano winked.

* * *

><p>England banged the metal mixing bowl onto the counter. He flung the flour and a few other spices into the mix before tossing in the eggs (still in shells) and milk (no clear measurement). Then, he stirred, and stirred, and stirred. Some of the mix splashed onto his apron, the floor, and the counter. He picked up the bowl, pacing as he continued the stir. He set aside the bowl, instantly forgetting its existence. He went for a roll of dough that had been left unattended on the table.<p>

He then slammed the dough onto his cutting board. Then he punched it to soften it up. Taking the rolling in, he just beat the poor dough senseless. The two cats, Ace and Crumpet, watched warily from the kitchen doorway. Usually when England beat his ingredients it was never a good sign. They ducked out of the room as quickly as possible.

Finally finished, he picked up the dough and flung it onto a baking rack. He opened the oven without consideration to its hinges, tossed the rack inside, and smashed the door closed. He set it to some ungodly temperature and stomped away. The cats skirted out of the way, tails between their legs in fear. They scurried under the couch. Ace buried his face into Crumpet's belly.

England stopped. He inhaled and exhaled a sob. He collapsed to the floor, hands on his face, as he started to cry. He pressed his back to the wall in hopes of it knocking some sense into him, but it did nothing. Crumpet poked his nose out before going over and offering his comfort. Ace followed suit. He tried to climb into England's lap.

England smiled at the two, wiping his face and then petting them both. After a time he went in and shut off his oven. Nothing like letting his house burn down to top off the wonderful mood he was in.

"Shall we go on a walk?" England offered, looking to his pets. "That ought to clear my head."

The cats meowed in agreement and followed after England to the front door. England walked for awhile, smelling the mist that had never burnt out by the sun, enjoying the faint chirps from birds in the foliage that so often accompanied English countryside. Not far from home, England took a seat on a boulder jutting out into the pathway. Around him were flowers of purple. He smiled fondly at them. Before him, Ace chased a butterfly. He was still a kitten, but he was so large that he looked like a full grown cat. Nearby, Crumpet watched like a doting parent.

Just like England did with America when the little tyke wandered off to play with a wild animal.

"What am I doing…?" he mused aloud. Crumpet turned to look at England. "I'm in love, but I can't be. The rules of nations is that we don't fall in love. Flings and shags are fine. Even the most closed off countries can't help themselves to an affair here and there. But love. That's taboo…

"And with America of all people? I had given my heart to him so long ago, only to have him step on it. Didn't I go into my Splendid Isolation to heal myself? To make sure I didn't become a fool with his head in the clouds? Now look at me. I count down the days we're to meet. I ache for his touch. I disregard the times and call him so that I may hear his voice."

While England talked, Crumpet's ears flickered. He looked back towards the house. Then, Ace halted in his frolicking. He took off back towards the house, Crumpet keeping up close behind.

"Have I gone mad? Marriage with a country is…" England stopped when he saw the cats run away. He sighed with a pathetic chuckle. "Even my own cats leave me…"

He stood and headed back home, dragging his feet. If he went home, he'd be reminded of only America. So much of the man had overtaken his life it was as if he already was married to him. The house smelled faintly of the cologne America loved to wear on business days, there was a video console tucked underneath the television with America's stack of extra games intermingled with England's DVD collection, comic books wedged in between Shakespeare, among other things. Not to mention, England's bed constantly smelled of America. It was a King, but it wasn't big enough to mask that scent.

When England arrived back at his home he noticed both cats hadn't gone inside yet. They were staring intently at England's post box. He sighed. He wasn't in the mood for anyone to be bothering him. It was why he had pointedly left his mobile at home, and off, under a pillow, upstairs in his bedroom. Still, his curiosity got the better of him and he lifted the lid.

It was a white envelope, no return address, cursive handwriting of England's human name. England ripped open the envelope with no finesse. It had been over two months since he and America had spoken. Any form of contact was a relief to his dehydrated nerves. Pulling out the familiar parchment paper, he quickly scanned the contents.

Then, he rushed around to the road. There was no one in sight, not even a trace of a car driving off towards town. He had missed him. So he returned his attention to the letter.

_My dearest Arthur,_

_That is what you are to me, my dearest. And my Arthur. I know you exist as the personification of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, just as I exist to be the United States of America, but I see you only as Arthur. Even as a child and I saw you in pirate gear, you were only Arthur._

_Ever since you taught me to write and you took me away on your pirate ship to look at the stars, I've tried thinking of ways to show you that I love you. To tell you exactly how much I really love you. I'm bad at words, but I'm all right with writing. I think. Am I doing okay?_

_I know this letter isn't on the same scale as the letters that brought us together, but I'll admit. You scare me. You piss me off. You make me cry. You make me hate the world and everything in it. But I will take all of that because, my dearest, you make me laugh, you make me love, you make me live. _

_In the simplest of terms, you make me happy._

_If I make you happy and if you can forgive my absence and all of my faults, then I'd like to see you. Please come to __the roses__ as soon as you can. I know what I just asked is a lot, but if I can overlook all of your faults, then maybe you can mine?_

Then, it was signed with a heart.

England pressed it to his chest, smiling. His answer was still yes.

Yes he would overlook all of America's silly habits, infuriating nuisances, horrific eating habits, and troublesome political problems, if only he forever was with America.

* * *

><p>Six hours later, give or take, England arrived at America's Victorian-style house. It was their favorite. And England knew what America had meant when he wrote "come to the roses". Two years ago, America, never terribly good at differentiating between a hoe and a rake, had planted a garden in his yard. He claimed it was all for England to enjoy when he spent weekends over and missed his own precious gardens. But the most luxurious aspect was the rose garden in the back.<p>

England marched to the garden, a smile already on his face. Two months with absolutely no contact, and now a nostalgic letter in his post. He even brought along Crumpet and Ace, more gifts from America. Crumpet was still woozy from the flight, so he took his leave under a bush where he began to wash himself. Ace, meanwhile, decided he would stick his nose in every single flower in the vicinity. He didn't care that he was constantly sneezing.

England rounded the corner. There stood America in a rather attractive suit, his hands behind his back. For a moment, England thought that there was a ring in his hands, but when he brought them to his front, there wasn't a box to be seen. Instead, he gestured to a small tea party-like table beside him. On it were two stacks of papers. They had to be fifteen pages, at least.

"What's this?" England asked.

America smiled and took England's hand, then put his free hand on England's hip. A soft tune was played from a stereo stuffed underneath the table, hidden by the tablecloth.

"I've missed you," America whispered.

"That didn't answer my question," England said, but the smile in his voice erased all hints of him actually being anything close to annoyed or frustrated.

"Yes it did. This is all like this because I missed you."

"And the papers?"

America shushed England as he gave him a lazy twirl. "Details, sweetheart, details."

England chuckled. He rested his cheek against America's chest. America hummed with the song, rumbling his chest in England's ear. England smiled more.

"I love you, my dearest Alfred," England mumbled. He lifted his head to stare at America. "I love you for your faults and your qualities. You will forever be my beloved, even if you leave me again. I don't think I could love another."

America smiled, and then leaned down to peck a kiss on England's lips. "I'm glad, my dearest Arthur. I know for a fact if something were to happen and we could no longer be together, I'd fight tooth and nail to get back to you. Because I can't live without you."

The couple continued to dance as if they had all of their lives. When the song ended, America released England, but held firm on his hand. England looked up at him to find the other nation blushing.

"Alfred? Is something wrong?"

"Um…I'm…not really good with words." America moved to the papers left unattended on the table. "Here, read this."

England sighed. "Honestly. Is this what you've been up to all this time?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

England looked at the top sheet; the title page. There was the official seal of the United States of America with the official of the United Kingdom of Great Britain under it. England glanced at the second stack to see the same, only England's seal was above America's. Then he noticed the title.

_**The Union of Alfred F. Jones and Arthur Kirkland**_

England looked to America for answers, but America held up a hand to stop him. He just pointed at the stack in England's arms. England sat down at the table and began flipping the pages.

__Section A.1__

_I, Alfred F. Jones_-

England stopped and asked, "Why the F? Why can't you just say your middle name?"

"Because, you're the only one who knows it. It's a secret. Keep reading."

_Section A.1_

_I, Alfred F. Jones, being the personification of the United States of America and accepting the responsibilities of the accompanying country that I am bound to and represent, hereby offer my hand in marriage and union to that of Arthur Kirkland, the personification of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Being of free will and sane mind, I accept the duties hereto given to me as a partner and husband of Arthur Kirkland._

_Section A. 2_

_The union does not exceed past those of a regular marriage as like that between a human male and female. As such, the duties that follow will not be given out:_

_-Political actions_

_-Treaties_

_-Declarations of war_

_-The act of signing and/or drawing up laws of either country, commonwealth, or territory_

_-Voting in political parties, political theaters, court rulings, or any laws_

_-Interference in societal, religious, or political means_

_Section A.3_

_If, for any reason, the two parties should decide to separate, they will not carry over any disputes or quarrels to political or international means. Both parties will receive equal share of whatever land and material possessions they collected through-out their tenure together. _

England's breath caught. The sheets continued on and elaborated in more detail as to what each section said in layman's terms. He read everything, filling up at least an hour's worth of reading. By now the cats had wandered over, lying at America and England's feet. Ace was first to sleep after his adventure in the garden. Crumpet kept him safe as he curled around him.

When done, England put the last sheet on the stack beside him. He stared at the tablecloth in amazement. Everything there had been written so beautifully and with little room for any kind of loophole. No doubt America needed all those two months to write them all. He must've paid the finest lawyers in his lands to write it up, and then tipped them extra to keep it a secret from the press.

"Well?" America asked carefully. "What do you think?"

"I…I think you proposed to me the wrong way," England replied.

"Huh?"

England smiled as he reached across the table. He took America's hand in his and then went to one knee on the grass. He looked up at America with hope in his eyes, much like America had looked that day two months ago in Italy at the airport.

"My dearest. My sweetest. My love. There are so many more adjectives I could use to describe you, even those ranging into insulting and rude, but all affectionate. Always. You have showered me in gifts from this beautiful garden, to the cats, to the camping trip, to oh so many more. And all because you wrote me letters. But our love goes further, doesn't it? It started from those late evenings teaching you to read and write, the night you looked at the stars on the ship, to teaching you to play the violin. You have been the one I would forever give my heart to, time and time again. And so I must ask: will you marry me?"

"Yes."

* * *

><p>England dipped, held safe and secure in America's arms. They were still dancing, but had moved into the house long ago when the sun began to dip into the horizon. The cats had taken to watching from the couch. England and America hadn't said much since the proposal, but what was there to say?<p>

There were still the trials and tribulations to get the union approved by both of their governments and people. Both were anxious about their impending future, but at this point, neither cared. They had both broken the rules: England in loving another country and America in asking another country to marry him. Of course, it was America who too fell in love and England who technically proposed. Both were at fault.

Both were fools.

Then, a thought occurred to England. "Alfred…? You had lawyers write this up, yes? How much did you have to pay?"

"I didn't hire anyone," America replied. He brushed back England's bangs as he looked down at him. "Veneciano and Romano called on Japan, Germany, France, Russia, China, and Canada. You remember a few weeks ago there was that three-day long meeting that you weren't invited to?"

England nodded. "I thought it was a world meeting."

"It was… Well kinda. That was when we drafted the entire thing up. I had lawyers look at it, but they didn't accept a single dime from me. They owed me favors."

England gawked. "Surely they'll tell the press!"

America shrugged. "No one would believe it, even if they were credible. Both of our governments would put it to rest, at least until this issue is dealt with. By then, people would probably forget about it. Perfect time to bring it back up!"

England shook his head. "So we're talking about at least five more years before it's official?"

"Pretty much. But, in my heart, you're my husband right now."

England held up a finger. "No. I am your fiancée. We haven't had a ceremony."

America groaned. "Do we _have_ to have a ceremony?"

"Yes," England replied flatly. "I am only getting married one time. I would like to do it right. Besides, you promised me a fairy-tale wedding, did you not?

"Oh yeah, I totally did." America laughed. By now the duo were just swaying side to side and holding the other around their midriff. The CD had looped a third time by now. "Well, all right. And we gotta ring the bells! And have a three hour ceremony for no reason! AND A CARRIAGE!"

England laughed. He kissed America on the cheek. "I demand a honeymoon, but I refuse to wear a dress."

"Artie, you can wear whatever you want. Come naked for all I care." America paused. "In fact, just come naked."

"Alfred!" England laughed. "Honestly…"

"Well, there's one stipulation about havin' the guys write us up our marriage certificate."

"What's that?"

"They have to come to the wedding," America said. Then he bit his lip. "And France says he's to be your best man."

"Preposterous! My brothers shall be my best men! I cannot have that _frog_ sully such a sacred spot!" England argued. "Let him be _your_ best man."

"No way!" America shot back. "That's for Mattie! He can be a groomsman or something. But dude, he's got a way longer history with you."

"I don't care! I don't want that bloody imbecile on my side. Not my wedding."

America was laughing by now. "Then you take that up with him."

"Whatever." England sighed. He then pulled America's face down. "Kiss me."

And he did. And would forever more. The term "Until death do us part" seemed unfitting for the immortal couple, and even a war wouldn't keep them apart. There really wasn't anything to diminish their love for each other. The tissue ring that adorned England's left finger said it all.

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: And now you all know what a gigantic lush I am. Jesus, I had no idea that this would turn into a 6K piece of work. I started this back at (my time) 2 PM and it's almost 11! Then again, I said I wanted to go out with a bang.

Well, I certainly hoped you all enjoyed the days that I was able to write. Sadly, I couldn't get all the prompts done like I had originally planned. There were mentions to days prior, as this is all the same timeline that I have set the series. I had wanted to do a story where England taught America to write, but I was ill that day. Same with a story I had where America went sightseeing in London for the first time when he was still a colony. Sadness…

In any case, I hope that you continue to stick around my account and read my other series that I have out and will be bringing out. My main series, _Rainbow Veins_, will be updating later this week, and I will also have a new mimi-series that'll be debuting sometime later this month (most likely by this weekend). Thanks for all the love and reviews and such! They meant the world to me! Feel free to stop by on my tumblr (hoshiko2[dot]tumblr[dot]com) anytime!


End file.
